


Something Borrowed

by Fae_vorite



Series: Oh My, What Big Claws You Have! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alpha Harry, Alpha Harry Potter, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Auror AU, Auror Harry, Bottom Draco, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Family, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter is a werewolf, M/M, Mates, Not your typical werewolf AU, Panic Attacks, Slight A/B/O dynamics, Soulmates, Top Harry, Weasleys, Werewolf, Werewolf AU, happy endings, mild dub/con, so mentions of vomit etc, warning: Harry is SICK at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fae_vorite/pseuds/Fae_vorite
Summary: When Harry switches to a new (experimental) medication he discovers being a werewolf is very different than he originally thought it would be. He can smell emotions, hear conversations from rooms away, and can heal more than ten times faster than he could when he was human. The only thing he can't quite figure out is why Draco Malfoy smells so damn good all the time and why he has the sudden overwhelming urge to grind him into the wall whenever he sees him. Oh well. It's just part of the medication, right?
Relationships: Bill/Fluer side pairing, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Harry/Draco, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Ron/Hermione
Series: Oh My, What Big Claws You Have! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020426
Comments: 216
Kudos: 932





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO!  
> I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who's here. I am no pro by any means but I get these stories in my head that I desperately need to get out. Anyone who knows me knows I'm a huge fan of spooky things and I've been on this huge werewolf kick lately and could not get werewolf Harry out of my head.
> 
> I know this is an AU (not similar to a lot of what is in actual Harry Potter werewolf lore) I am by no means an expert but I wanted to dabble with different wolfy tropes that I've discovered and enjoy. I hope you like it!!! please be gentle.

The first thing Harry noticed was how foggy the world had suddenly become. He'd been at Ron and Hermione's for almost three days already as they all waited with baited breath for the withdrawals to start to kick in. He shifted restlessly on the couch, thick fingers carding through even thicker hair as his glasses slid down his nose and his eyes scrunched shut in frustration. His fingers caught at the ends of his curls, sweet pain stinging it’s way through his scalp as he tore through the tangles.

“You okay there, mate?” Ron worried from where he was stationed across the room in a particularly large and lumpy reclining chair. It had patches from years of abuse as the chair itself had been used before Ron had found it sitting on someone’s front lawn with a “ _Free to a good home_ ” Sign positioned across the lumpy brown cushion. He'd loved it ever since, stroking the patchwork fabric every time he sat down.

“Fine.” Harry’s grunt was lost between his palms as the calloused skin scratched his cheeks and he tried to block out the throbbing in his head.

“You look like you’re turning green.” Harry didn’t dignify him with a response, curling in on himself as he clutched at his head and his stomach started to turn. “Harry-”

The brunette heard him shift, Ron’s steps like avalanches as he thundered his way over to the couch and very gently grabbed his shoulders to help him lay down. _Could he be any louder? Circes Tits._ The next time Harry spoke, the words seemed to explode in his ear drums, breaking him down as he covered his ears and turned his face into the cushions. They scratched his cheeks, the old couch equal parts comfy and uncomfortable. Hermione tended to throw blankets across it whenever guests came over, to protect them from the almost velcro like quality the upholstery possessed.

Even that delivered no reprieve as the scent of cat was so strongly ingrained in the fabric that the world began to spin and Harry felt his stomach start to turn violently.

“I don’t know ‘Mione.” Ron’s voice sounded like gongs to his ears, echoing through the throbbing of his head. Harry’s pride burning with his throat as a broken whimper tore its way deep from his chest. Hurt like an animal as the shaking began to start. “He was fine, we were listening to the game and suddenly he just started shaking. He looks bad. He looks bad.” Ron kept repeating, nerves echoing through his voice as the tinny voice from the other end of the phone started to get clearer and clearer.

Tunnel vision as Harry’s ears began to pick up his friend's altered voice. “ _We expected something like this to happen as he got used to his new medication, Ron. There’s only so much wolfsbane can do, and unfortunately the only thing we can do is help him through this.”_

A broken sound shattered its way through Harry, his body vibrating as his thick fingers twitched and burned, scrabbling at the couch as if they had a mind of their own. He couldn't control the way they scratched, the burn only seeming to increase as fire burned through his nail beds and the sound of the cushions shredding filtered through his ears. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

Sweat dripped down the brunette's neck, pooling in the hollows of his throat as his claws finished tearing through his fingers and his teeth suddenly felt too big for his mouth.

“Okay. _Okay_. Okay. _Ron._ Okay,” Ron self soothed, thudding around the room like a one man stampede “Where the hell are his damn pills?!”

There was more thudding, more swearing and the sound of several drawers being ripped from their hinges before Ron released a crow of victory and suddenly he was right there.

“Harry. I’m gonna need you to take this, okay Buddy?” His voice cracked as clammy fingers pressed to Harry’s forehead, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but you gotta take your medication." Harry heard him summon something from the kitchen, the smell of magic singeing the inside of his nose, "You’re gonna be okay." More rustling, "Can you turn to me?”

Ron's fingers were cool, wet with cold sweat. They felt like balm to his burning skin and Harry nodded, shaking as he shifted to face his friend, his eyes squeezed as tightly as he could to avoid the pounding headache that awaited him the moment he opened them. That tiny movement alone had his stomach lurching, head pounding as he wished desperately he could just die.

His golden skin was shiny with perspiration, t shirt sticking to Harry's feverish skin as clawed hands reached blindly for the cold glass Ron was carefully placing in his hand.

“I’m gonna help you sit, okay?” Ron's voice shook. It was the most scared Harry had ever heard him, the scent of fear cloying it’s way through his noise and threatening to make him sick up all over Ron and Hermione’s living room.

When Harry was sitting the lurching feeling only seemed to get worse, his fingers tightening around the glass of water as Ron pressed pills into his palm and he quickly popped them. It took more strength than he thought he had to swallow the damn things, drowning himself in water in an attempt to get his throat to work when all it wanted to do was sick up and rumble.

They were still, Ron’s fingers clutching his cheeks to keep him centered as the world continued to swim in circles around them. After long minutes of waiting, of the clench of his abdomen, and the burn in his throat, he finally began to feel relief.

They both sank into the couch, Ron clutching Harry too tightly as he smoothed his friend's thick hair back from his face and tore his glasses from his nose.

The thud they made when they hit the floor was impossibly loud, though Harry was gratefully starting to lose the pounding in his head as he sunk against Ron’s skinny chest and his friend’s words slowly began to make sense again.

“He’s okay, He’s okay, ‘Mione.” His voice was a soft echo. “He’s settling down now. Just needs to sleep. I know, I know. Keep him hydrated- I get it. Okay. _Thank God_.”

“ _Ron, Breathe_.” Hermione’s voice echoed softly, “ _You did so well. We knew going into this that it would be hard and you did so so good. I’ll be home in 20 minutes, okay? Hold tight til then.”_

Wiry strength held Harry to Ron’s chest as his friend shook and clutched him. He smelled strongly of doritos and twizzlers (A new obsession Hermione’s parents had introduced him to) and the scent soothed Harry’s nerves as his chest heaved and he was finally able to breathe.

“You’re gonna be okay, Buddy. I promise.”

* * *

The next few weeks were absolute hell. Harry spent half his time awake throwing up, and the other half tearing his way through cushions. In his few lucid moments he promised to buy Ron a new couch, but the redhead just laughed and told him not to worry about it. Then the heat overtook him again and the world became a waking nightmare.

It took three long weeks before he was used to his new medication and subsequently the new powers that had surfaced from the bite.

Harry groaned, sitting up and dropping his head as he tried to adjust to the morning light. Hermione appeared within moments, worry etched across her freckled cheeks as she hurried to his side and pressed a cold cloth to his forehead. “It’s back again?”

Harry laughed, throat aching from disuse. The only noises he’d made for nearly a week had been growls, deep and rumbling from the pit of his chest, his vocal chords were fried. “No, Thank God.” Thin chapped lips twitched into a smile, eyes still unfocused as he shook his head and righted the room. Everything was clearer. He could see the individual hairs crookshanks had left embedded in the carpet and the orange crumbs littering the base of Ron’s favorite chair. “Just not a morning person.”

Hermione laughed, wiping a tear from her cheek as she gingerly got off her knees and tore her way into the small bedroom she and Ron shared.

The smell of vomit was unmistakable and Harry’s nose wrinkled, head tilting back to stare at the dust motes shifting around above him, bathed with morning light. No amount of cleaning spells could get rid of the awful sour scent of sickness.

“He’s awake!” Despite being in another room and blocked by a door and four walls Harry heard Hermione’s voice like she was speaking directly into his ear. He flinched, shaking his head and doing his best to focus on the ceiling again so the noise wouldn’t overwhelm him again as it had over the past three weeks.

“Oh thank the lord.” Ron was beside his side in seconds, his phone held awkwardly in his hands. He’d never gotten used to using phones. Both Harry and Hermione knew he was trying, but the different buttons frustrated him more than anything. The amount of time it took him to send a text or dial a number could send Harry into an early grave. Which just made it mean more how many times Ron had fought through his own frustration to give Hermione a call to update on Harry’s healing. “You hungry bud? I can have Indian delivered in 30 minutes.”

He had their favorite Indian place on speed dial.

Harry’s stomach rumbled and he nodded gratefully, watching Ron with new eyes as he zeroed in on the constellation of freckles across his friends nose.

“Thank the lord.” Ron repeated with a fist pump, doing a little victory dance as he pressed a few buttons and pressed the phone to his ear, “If he’s ready for Indian we know he’s back.”

Harry cracked a lopsided smile, shifting awkwardly as he remembered how much both Ron and Hermione had sacrificed to work him through his detox from wolfsbane.

“You feeling better?” Hermione asked gently, sitting beside him and turning big brown doe eyes, ringed with dried tears, to take in the bags under his eyes, and the sallow dip to his cheeks from weeks of eating nothing but bread crusts and applesauce. Stubble tickled across his jaw, too long, and too scratchy for the amount of time he'd gone without shaving. Fucking werewolf genes.

“I do.” Harry shifted again, guilt gnawing at him as he took in how tired she looked, her hair puffing up around her more than usual, bits of dried vomit stuck to the bottom in a stomach roiling way, purple bruises lining her eyes as a testament to how much she cared.

“I’m so proud of you.” Her tone was motherly, tiny little hands laying on the inside of his elbow as she gave him a soft squeeze. She looked up at Ron fondly, listening to him prattle on through the menu he’d had memorized for at least a year. “I think this will be better for you. You can embrace the parts of you that changed, use them to enhance your life instead of-”

“Ruining it.” Harry bit his chapped lips, the skin tugging where it’d split the night before. “Yeah I know.”

“It’ll be strange,” She warned, giving him another little squeeze, “You’re going to have to get used to being part wolf now.”

Harry laughed, patting her hand back before he got shakily to his feet. His gratitude felt like it was choking its way through his throat as his eyes burned and he took in the forms of his two best friends. Words couldn’t express what their sacrifice meant. The amount of money they’d lost, taking time off to care for him was something he fully planned on reimbursing them for. He couldn’t however give them back their sick days they’d used, or the amount of time they’d spent caring for him.

Ron had cried that first night, when it looked like Harry might not make it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Ron cry. Through a fog he remembered his friend shaking, as he clutched Harry’s prone body to him and smoothed his hands across his clammy forehead to slick his thick black locks back.  
He broke a little just thinking about it, shoulders drawing up as his own scent began to tickle it’s way through his nose. He needed a shower, like now. And if he cried the second the hot spray hit him and melted the scent of illness and sweat down the drain, only he would have ears strong enough to hear it.

Things got better after that.


	2. Chapter 2

Sugar slowly soaked its way into his tea as Draco stirred half heartedly, head pressed to the inside of his own elbow.

It was a dull brown color and smelled slightly of peppermint. ( _Pansy’s favorite_ )

“Stop being such a spoilsport,” Pansy huffed with annoyance calves flexing as she perched on a corner of her cherrywood desk, “Just because Potter hasn’t been around in weeks doesn’t mean he’s not coming back.”

“Well yes, but it’s been  _ three.” _

_ “And?”  _ Pansy arched an incredibly thin eyebrow, flipping her bob back as dramatically as possible with the least amount of effort. She’d sat in front of the mirror for nearly the entirety of 4th year teaching herself how to do it. To say she had the movement perfected would be the ultimate understatement. Who knew a single motion could so perfectly encompass someone’s disdain?

Draco sighed, rolling grey eyes to the ceiling as he dejectedly continued to stir his tea. The overhead light glinted through heavy lashes before his blonde head plunked against the table and the frantic motion of his fingers finally ceased. 

“He’ll be back,” Pansy told him, obviously confident as her dark rimmed eyes narrowed and she flicked an elegant hand out to encompass the room, “No one has told me anything about him resigning or taking any more sick leave than he already has. I’m guessing he’s down with the flu.” Her lip curled like the word alone would make her sick, red lipstick spelled to never touch the pearly white of her tiny little teeth.

Draco released another sigh against cold wood, pressed comfortingly to his cheek before he peeled his skin from the tabletop and gave her a half hearted glare.

Realistically he knew she was right. Pansy knew all about the goings on behind the scenes in the M.L.E (Magical Law Enforcement.) She’d had spies planted ever since she was named head editor-in- chief of  _ The Prophet _ nearly 3 years previously.

If you wanted to know something Pansy was the one to ask, despite being as terrifying as she was pretty. 

“You’re frightening you know,” Draco drawled, sitting up with a little more color to his cheeks as he brought cold porcelain to his lips and took a tentative sip. Her words soothed him somewhat, a balm to his soul.

“I know.” Red lips pulled into a cheshire smile, all bite with no teeth.

“If I wasn’t bent I’m sure I’d be smitten.” Flattery always won him the best favors.

“I’m sure.”

Draco finished his tea, adjusted his satchel and spelled his cup clean before sending it flying off into the breakroom three corridors down. Walls painted evergreen rose above him for ages before ending in long hanging lights, bright enough to cast shadows that danced across the luxuriously furnished room. 

“I’d best be back to work,” Draco’s eyes narrowed, settling on his petite friend as she slid from the edge of her desk and walked towards the door to let him out, “You know how it is. Deadlines and all that.”

“Sure, sure, _Darling_.” Pansy continued to smile in that knowing way of hers, not commenting on the flush to his cheeks or the way his shoulders stayed rigid next to his ears at the thought of returning to yet another day of grunt work for people he despised more than respected. “Those letters can’t deliver themselves.”

They both knew the hypocrisy of that statement, seeing as the letters absolutely  _ could _ in fact deliver themselves.

What a sad existence Draco lived. Delivery boy for a wizarding nursing home.

After the war it’d been nearly impossible to find work. Everywhere that had a vacancy turned him away as soon as they saw his shock of blonde hair and the glint to his silver eyes. His pride had burned like acid in the back of his throat, fingers tingling with rage as he’d turned around and stormed out of his first interview.

Desperation had began to bite however days later when the Estate was seized and more than half his vaults were emptied to pay for reparations. As the galleons dwindled so did his pride until 30 job applications later he’d finally stumbled across the understated doors of “ _ Prince and Pibbles, Wizarding Home for the Esteemed _ .” Most employees and residents tended to call it  _ Pibbles _ for short.

It was after Draco had been interviewed and graciously welcomed that he realized what his job would actually entail.

So here he was, 3 years later, delivering angry notes from angry old people to their grandchildren on a daily basis. 

Many of the residents were too old to cast even simple spells, accios ending in broken noses, job security for him he supposed. The purebloods tended to tip well, half bloods even better. Classism had no place in the great halls of _Pibbles_.

At first Draco had been tempted to ask why he was necessary at all, why he couldn’t just send the letters himself via owl, but not wanting to lose job security he’d zipped his mouth shut and kept his head down.

He rarely saw his boss nowadays, anyway. His days were filled with old people smell and the smack of Mrs. Bixby’s cinnamon gum. Her nephew sent her a new package every third Tuesday of the month.

It was just his luck that her nephew just so happened to work as an Auror at the Ministry.

And thus lay his problem.  _ Today was the third Tuesday. _ Draco sighed, rustling through his letters as he ducked down the street and managed to avoid the barrage of elbows and shoulders that went out of their way to knock him about whenever he left the sanctity of his home or work place. Today was Tuesday, and every Tuesday for the last three years (barring the past few weeks) Draco could count on seeing Potter’s bitterly handsome face scowling at his desk like his paperwork had personally offended him.

He looked unfairly sexy scowling like that. It made Draco want to _do things_ to him.

The dolt was stupidly fit, all broad shouldered and ‘eyebrow-y’ and never ceased to send shivers down his spine and heat up to his already flushed cheeks. 

Potter had never noticed him.

At first it had infuriated him, made him want to scream, shout, and tear Harry’s stupid black mane from his stupid fat head. He’d refrained, adopting grace from his upbringing and trying to force down the acid that climbed up his throat. 

He hated feeling unimportant. He hated being ignored even more.

There was no one quite like Potter to kick him from his high horse and remind him how little he really mattered.

Despite this, seeing Potter’s stupid head and frowny dimples was the highlight of his sad lonely little life. Being deprived this had sent him into a downward spiral, hence the temper tantrum that lead to tea at Pansy’s.

Draco rushed past the floos, boarding the elevator and resolutely keeping his head down and eyes to the buttons marked for each floor. He pushed one, ignoring the murmur of voices surrounding him, the hot press of unfamiliar bodies and even more unfamiliar smells. The elevator always smelled like sweat and the singe of magic, unpleasant but soothing as it always remained the same. Normalcy was a comfort nowadays.

If he didn’t speak, if he didn’t move, he hoped the other wizards would all just go away. Sometimes they did. Sometimes not so much.

He was lucky today however, hair glinting as the door opened and he bolted his way down the hall and pushed his way into the M.L.E office. 

Notes flew over his head like bullets, shooting down the hall and presumably to other parts of the building. The sound of laughter pounded through his skull as he passed The Weasel’s desk and hurried passed cubicle after cubicle to the corner of the room where Bixby Jr. presided. 

Draco had never bothered to learn his real name, preferring instead to relate him to his grandmother, her easy grin flickering to the front of his mind as he paused before her grandson and waited patiently to be acknowledged.

“Malfoy.” Bixby greeted, flicking tired brown eyes over him a few minutes into his awkward salute. The older man sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, his face sagging beneath the weight of hefty fingers, mouth twisted in an expression so unlike his grandmother’s it was quite frightening. He had her same nose though. “Come bearing good news?”

“Nope, still alive.” Draco joked, lips curling into a vicious little smile as Bixby relaxed and exhaled a throaty laugh.

“Ah, maybe next time.” He dug around in his drawers for a moment, pushing aside the documents he’d been working on to pull out a pack of gum and hand it over. “No notes for me this time?”

Draco dug around in his bag before he triumphed and held it out, the paper of the note crinkling between his fingers as it was taken from him and the other man’s eyes rolled skyward as he read the few words printed on the page. 

“It’s never enough, is it?” He sighed, shoving the note into the top drawer of his desk as Draco took the pack of gum and carefully slipped it into his satchel. Bixby liked to pretend he didn’t love his grandmother but Draco could see through the thinly veiled disgust. Not to mention the fact that every note he’d delivered for the past 3 years was tucked delicately together in the top drawer on the other man’s desk. He was a big softy, the bastard.

“Never.”

A galleon was pressed to Draco’s fingers, his pride clutching angrily at his chest as he accepted the tip and his cheeks burned red with humiliation.

A Malfoy, nothing better than an errand boy.

His father would be furious.

When that was over, his heart raced, eyes downcast as he hoped that no one had seen him accept the extra money. Charity felt like acid in his chest, though his stomach rumbled appreciatively as he couldn’t help but think about the extra groceries he could buy on his way home from  _ Pibbles _ that night.

Delivery taken care of he chanced a glance up, flickering across the room to Potter’s desk as he always did. It was empty. 

Figures.

Draco sighed inwardly, strolling as quickly out of the office as he could with a weight to his pocket that burned from where the money thumped against lean legs as he moved.

No Potter for another week? Bloody typical. The other man was such a slacker. He was probably on vacation with the girl weasel, laughing it up on the beach somewhere with bottomless drinks and his stupid golden abs on display.

Suddenly Draco’s world was turned on its access and his head spun, shoulder burning with pain as he was shoved into the wall right outside the elevators. Letters continued to fly by his head, wooshing through the thundering in his ears and the burn in his fingers as cold wallpaper pressed to his cheek.

“ _What- the_ -” The blonde spluttered indignantly, trying to right himself, chest compressing with fury and anxiety as he tried to turn to acknowledge his attacker.

The overwhelming smell of citrus and sandalwood filled his nose. It would've been pleasant if he wasn’t currently being abused. 

“Sorry, sorry,” A deep voice spluttered behind him, more than half gravel as Draco was suddenly released and listed to the side as he tried to counterbalance.

“You should be sorry, you absolute blundering _, arseho_ -” Grey eyes widened in surprise, his lips parted in a little 'o' as he took in the large form dressed from head to toe in scarlet in front of him.

It was Potter.

_It was Potter!_

His psyche did a little dance as he righted his clothing, eyes narrowing to take in the details of the huge chest before him and the sad twist to Potter’s plush lips.

“I am- _Sorry,_ that is.” Potter really did look sorry, his face etched with remorse, dimples sagging, and brows so low they threatened to cover the lovely shade of sea glass reflected in his irises. “I don’t know why I did that.” His eyes widened, nose twitching as if he was noticing something for the first time.

Draco unconsciously took a little sniff himself, trying to figure out what the bloody git was so excited about. All he could smell was Potter’s cologne and the cinnamon gum hidden deep within the folds of his bag. 

“Do you smell that?”

“Smell, what?” Draco shifted uncomfortably, very aware of Potter’s body heat as he was standing far, far too close.

“You know-” Harry waved his hand, disbelieving as his own eyes widened and suddenly he was pressing even closer.

Potter was a line of heat against his body, hard edges, and full muscles. His stupid green eyes were full of worry and something else- pupils blown as he leaned even closer. 

Sandwiched between a solid wall of man and gaudy wallpaper was not at all how Draco had expected his day to go. 

“Potter, you do realize who I am, don’t you?” Draco tried to confirm, not proud of the way his voice croaked, heart beat thudding unsteadily as he did his very best to control the blood rushing to lower regions in his body.

“Yes, of course I know who you are,” Potter looked offended for a moment, pressing ever closer and sandwiching a leg between Draco’s as his eyes seemed to get impossibly wide and he pressed his face to the warm skin exposed at the top of Draco’s neck, “ _I think it’s you_.”

“You think _what i_ s me? _The smell_?” Draco squawked indignantly, doing his best to push Potter’s impossibly fluffy head away from him as he felt the warm press of the other man’s nose to the delicate skin beneath his ear. “I do  _ not _ smell.”

“Yes you do,” Potter snuffled, the sensation sending shivers up the blondes spine as his eyes crossed and he stared at the dirty ceiling above, wishing for an explanation as to why he was being punished, “Well, you don’t  _ smell _ , but you smell… uh… _Delicious_?” 

Harry's voice was muffled, vibrating against Draco’s skull as his fingers curled into fists and he tried very hard to hold still. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to move, or never move. A toss up, really. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to insult me or compliment me.”

“Compliment, definitely.”

“Oh.” Heat coursed through his veins, tomato red as his cheeks burned and Draco twitched helplessly against the furnace that was Harry Potter. Potter thought he smelled good? He _complimented_ him? Was this some sort of alternate dimension?   
  


Draco spent the next 30 seconds doing his best to try to come up with any change he might’ve made in his hygiene routine to warrant such a strong response as to be pressed against the wall and practically ravaged by Potter’s nose. Could you even be ravaged by a nose? Probably. Definitely. That was exactly what it felt like as Harry continued to sniff and snuffle, skin warm and comforting where it pressed against him.

He was dying, he had to be. There was no way in Hell that the brunette would willingly acknowledge Draco, let alone get all up in his business like some sort of- _some sort of_ \- of- _Something._

Indignation began to burn as Draco recalled the years he’d spent practically begging Potter to notice him, praying to the gods that those green eyes would flick over him even once in acknowledgement. Now here he was being practically molested.

“You know what, Potter?” Draco huffed, anger rising up to close his throat as he took dainty mole decorated fingers and moved to shove at Harry’s chest, “You’re a prick.” 

Potter didn't move.

Draco shoved again, to no avail. It was like the other man was made of steel, hot and hard against him as the lack of movement seemed to only fuel the blonde's fury. 

“ _Let. Me. Go._ ”

Harry whuffed, lips fluttering against Draco's fragile skin as gooseflesh climbed his limbs, and his knees grew a little weak. “I mean it.”

Draco’s knees only grew more weak as the larger man shifted, lips parted and hot breath fanning across the paper thin cream of his throat. “Potter.” Draco tried again, voice quivering, the fury building as arousal burned low in his chest.

Harry shifted again, soft hair tickling his cheek as thick fingers reached up to close lightly around his throat.

The feeling was bliss.

Draco melted, his head thunking against the wall as a quiet whimper left his lips and calloused fingers closed gently around his throat, softly pulsing like he was petting him. The motion sent tingles through his body, settling in his cock and he whined, a broken little noise, Potter’s thick thigh between his legs suddenly a lot more convenient than it had been mere seconds before.

“ _You smell so good._ ” Potter sounded winded, voice scratchy and low as his thigh shifted between Draco’s legs and began to undulate in a soft little circle. He wasn’t even sure if Harry noticed. He wasn’t sure if he cared. 

Just when Draco had decided to throw caution to the wind and surrender to the heat of Harry’s hands there was a roar from down the hall and he was snapped from his daze in a hurry.

Ron Weasley was barreling towards them, red hair flying and spindly limbs pinwheeling in a frankly ridiculous manner as the freckled git reached them. He was winded, wheezing and eyes filled with horror.

Draco was sure he was about to be hexed.

“Harry let him go.” 

_Oh_. That was surprising.

Harry growled. The rumble of the aggressive sound passed through their chests, forcing Draco’s nipples to pebble and between his legs to tingle in a way he’d never felt before. Fuck. _Growling_? Really, Draco? _Growling_ … 

“Harry.” It was obvious the Weasel was just barely keeping it together, carefully moving to try and extract Potter’s hand from his throat as it seemed to be the most immediate danger. “Harry, I know you hate him but you can’t bloody murder Malfoy in the corridor.”

Draco’s eyes widened, then narrowed, the hand on his throat no longer quite as stimulating as it had been before. He began to fight for his freedom once more. _Potter hated him_? The words stung more than they should’ve, his eyes burning as he clawed at Harry’s fingers and stomped rather harshly on his toes.

He was released within seconds, Potter’s eyes burning as they focused on him with rapt attention. 

“Fuck. _You_.” Draco hissed, reaching up to cradle his own throat, humiliation and fury flickering across his chest in equal measures as he stabbed the taller man in the chest with the tip of a very pointy finger, “and fuck you too.” 

The last remark was thrown at the Weasel, silver eyes burning with barely concealed fury as he whipped around and slammed into the elevator. He didn’t look at Potter, didn’t want to see the glee he was sure was etched across the other man’s face.

Bested stupid fucking Malfoy again. Make him want you then _shove it in his face_. 

The doors shut. Draco’s eyes burned, his head thunking back against the wall, the phantom heat of fingers still pressed to delicate skin. If he closed his eyes he could still feel the tickle of Potter’s soft curls against the shell of his ear. 

He was such an idiot.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


“What were you thinking?!” Ron was hot on his heels, upset and worry burning across his face as Harry sighed and dropped his forehead against the wall. He hadn’t moved since Malfoy had left, his fingers tingling and gums aching to drop his teeth and sink them into the space that the blonde had just occupied.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?!” Ron’s voice rose, the smell of confusion filling Harry’s nose and clearing it of the sweet tang of Malfoy’s scent.

“I just- I-” Harry whined, fingers going up to dig into his scalp, fangs threatening to break through as his cock ached, pressed tight to the seam of his scarlet robes. “I just- _Ron_ -” It was like he couldn’t even think.

His chest _hurt_ , hollowed out by the fury in Malfoy’s voice as he’d left. There was a shake to his knees that he hadn’t felt in years, his instincts going haywire as he tried desperately to soak up the last dregs of the citrus scent the blonde had left behind. It made him want to _do things._

“Hey,” Ron’s voice gentled, his scent reeking of home and comfort as he carefully reached up and tried to pry Harry’s fingers from his hair before he pulled it out, “It’s okay, Buddy. You’re just adjusting.”

He knew this was hard on Ron. It was hard on everyone. It was like he was a fucking child again, not sure why he did things, feeling and reacting before thinking. He was a six foot two fucking _toddler_ with too much strength and the desire to hump Malfoy within an inch of his life.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Ron tugged him away, ignoring the broken noise Harry made as he was carefully shoved into the now empty elevator.

Malfoy’s distress was heavy in the air, rolling across his tongue and making him want to attack whoever had caused it. He forced back the feeling as best as he could, though it did little to push back his fangs as they slid through his gums and his mouth filled with the bitter taste of copper.

“ _Fuck,_ Ron?” Harry dropped his head back, staring at his friend with red rimmed eyes, his words muffled through his new teeth, helplessness flitting across handsome features.

“Lets get you home. This was too soon. We should’ve tried something like taking you to dinner or to the bank or something before okaying you to work again. You’re not ready.”

“ _I thought I was_.” The words sounded more like “I thought I wash” a lisp through Harry’s teeth as he swallowed more blood and bile and settled in against the corner where Malfoy’s scent was strongest.

“I know.” He could tell Ron was burning to ask what he was thinking, what he’d been thinking when he assaulted Malfoy in the corridor. He mercifully stayed silent however, pulling out his phone and plunking away at a text to Hermione.

Harry hated how they talked about him. He appreciated the concern, he really did, but the way they discussed him like he wasn’t even there made him burn with the need to hide his insecurities, to be the strength he used to be before this mess happened.

He wanted Malfoy.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The third Tuesday of the month arrived too soon. Draco spent three full weeks wallowing in self pity, drowning his sorrows in the  _ British Baking Show _ that Pansy’s fling of the month was obsessed with. (nevermind that her monthly fling was now a 7 month kinda thing)

He couldn’t figure out how to use the magic box himself. He also couldn't remember the real name of the device and it’d been too long to ask what it was again. So he was 6 months into an obsession with the damn thing calling it a Magic Box in his head and hoping someone would bring up what it was called in passing.

He’d rather die than have Pansy laugh at him for this too.

For weeks Draco had wallowed, glaring at pastries and throwing insults this way and that. Brian, Pansy’s… Something or other, would come sit down and turn the damn thing on for him any time he was over. Sometimes he stayed just to be angry at the screen with Draco, and sometimes he just left the screen on and headed out to do whatever 'Brians' do.

Draco kinda loved Brian. He was the only one of Pansy’s paramours that Draco bothered learning the name of. At one point Draco had even been charitable enough to offer him a cup of his mother’s chamomile tea.

The other man had smiled, a small private thing, and gave him a nod. Draco liked that he was a man of few words. He wouldn’t mind if Brian stuck around, though the idea was very unlikely. Pansy was about as boyfriend repellent as Draco was.

The only difference was that she chose to be that way, the bint.

Blonde hair glowed softly in the light slanting in from the kitchen windows, kissing his skin as he buried his face in his overly large cuppa, a ridiculously expensive blanket draped across his shoulders like a cape.

Small comforts, and all that.

“ _ Darling _ .” Pansy was a whirlwind through the kitchen, tugging on the back of his hair as she passed, her almond nails scratching his scalp. This week they were red. They were always red when she was getting fucked on a regular basis. He knew to watch for color changes like Brian watched the weather channel.

God forbid her nails ever be blue. That had been a nightmare the blonde was not willing to experience again.

“Good morning, harpy.” Draco grinned viciously over the lip of his chipped mug. He’d broken it in a fury during the first week of his self imposed isolation after  _ The Incident _ with Potter. Now he kinda liked the chip. When he looked at it he remembered to be angry.

“Har, har, _so funny_.” Pansy rolled her eyes heavenward, shoving a bagel into her mouth so slathered in cream cheese it squished obscenely between her painted lips. Draco’s lip curled in disgust, watching her as she gave him a cheese filled grin.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Love you too,” Pansy smacked a wet kiss to his cheek, her black hair whipping about as she polished off her bagel and moved on to the coffee he’d so painstakingly brewed for her before he knew she awoke at 6:00.

Draco glanced around, tilting his head and listening upstairs for any sign of life. “No Brian?”

“No Brian, I’m afraid. Work retreat.” She looked dreadfully amused with how taken Draco was. Pansy was probably the only person in the world who understood how much it took for the blonde to have a vested interest in someone.

Brian however was woefully straight, and taken obviously, not really Draco’s type either though he did love how very vicious the usually quiet man got when someone on the Magic Box messed up the butter to sugar ratio whilst baking.

“ _No Brian_?” The words finally hit him, a scowl washing over his face as his shoulders rose and he glared at the dregs left in the bottom of his cup. Draco huffed angrily, stomping to the sink and depositing his dish without washing it just to be rude.

Pansy rolled her eyes skyward flicking her wand as theatrically as she possibly could to clean the damn thing before floating it into the cupboard. She loved her dramatics just as much as he did. Point officially made the brunette gave his shoulder a sharp taloned squeeze.

“No baking this morning.” Her voice was firm, dark gaze searching. As much as they fought he knew Pansy would die for him, as he would her. Her fingers reached up to card through his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way she’d done since they were children. It never ceased to get his hackles down. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him besides Pansy.

“But-” Draco’s whole plan for the day had been to binge watch the most infuriating episodes of BBS, enjoy the judges picking apart the contests, and watch a few mental breakdowns before he experienced his own at the thought of possibly seeing Potter again.

At one point he’d kinda hoped Mrs. Bixby would just up and die so he wouldn’t have to visit her grandson again. He’d felt especially bad after that thought and used his tip to buy a whole extra tin of biscuits to bring to her.

She’d given him a huge smacking kiss for his troubles, all old lady smell, and private little smiles. His cheeks still hurt from the way she’d pulled and pinched and told him ‘what a nice young man’ he was. Draco was not nice, and the guilt ate a little at him even now.

“Draco, you can’t keep eating shite and watching the telly,” Ahhhhhh the  _ Telly  _ that’s what it was, “It’s been three years since we left Hogwarts and I’m sorry to say it, love, but your life calling is not delivering gum to little old ladies.”

Draco’s cheeks burned, his silver eyes narrowing as he gave her an upset little glare.

“If you don’t want to work towards something bigger at least land yourself a rich husband. There’s only so long you can keep your Mum afloat making minimum wage.”

“You think I don’t know that?” fire bit its way up the blondes throat, his eyes burning as he blinked back the wetness that had threatened to escape since he’d heard that years later Harry still  _ hated  _ him. Weasel hadn’t said ‘ _dislike_ ’ either. He’d said ‘ _hate_.’ And wasn’t that just the icing on the cake? Because Draco kinda hated himself too.

“Like I said- You’re pretty enough to land a CEO somewhere. Just flash those pearly whites of yours and show off how round your arse is.” Pansy tried to smooth his ruffled feathers, tough love and all that. She scratched at the top of his head, unfairly making him melt a little as he bundled tighter into the cream blanket he’d stolen directly from her bed. _What_? It was the softest in the house, she didn’t _deserve it_. The bint had her dream job and her dream boyfriend. The least she could do was hand over the softest blanket.

A consolation prize but a prize all the same.

“I don’t _want_ a CEO,” Draco grumbled, his eyes slipping shut, lashes suspiciously wet. She seemed to notice, scratching where she knew he liked it before taking his cheeks in her hands and planting a kiss on his forehead. How many times she’d kiss him that morning, he didn’t know, “ _CEO’s are not my type_.”   
  


“That’s right, _you_ like the spectacled git kind of species.” Pansy said the words kindly but they still ate at his chest. He’d never admitted as much to her, in fact he was fairly tight lipped about anything to do with Britains’ Golden Boy.

She was a good friend though, and good friends noticed those sorts of things.

Draco cleared his throat, extracting himself from her fingers as he trudged dejectedly out of the kitchen towards his room. He gave the Telly one last longing look before thumping inside to get dressed. Now that his entire morning was free he'd have more time to choose his outfit for the day and wallow in pity once more.

Even Pansy’s stupid house was perfect. He was happy for her, he truly was, and grateful. He’d have nowhere to stay if she hadn’t immediately offered him a room the moment his home had been seized. 

His mother had moved to France, living out her life spending the last of the Malfoy’s galleons while Draco worked as hard as he could to send her what little was left from his checks after buying groceries.

He’d never told her where he ended up working. It was an unspoken agreement that they both knew it wasn’t anywhere good and neither of them wanted to talk about everything that had been taken from them.

He still missed his Mother with a fierce longing in times like this.

When Draco was dressed he sighed, carefully parting his hair and spelling away the flyaways before liberally dousing himself in his favorite cologne. Potter had said he smelled, didn’t he? Well let him smell, the bastard.

It wasn’t long before Draco found himself at the end of his shift, letter for Bixby Jr. in his pocket, and cheeks burning as he stepped into the lift that would inevitably bring him to the M.L.E once more.

The blonde ducked to avoid a particularly angry letter as it whizzed by, his eyes narrowing as he jammed the door shut and took his frustration out on the button to his desired floor.

He kept his head down, walking fast and with purpose down the hallway, his ears open and senses wired in the hopes that he would hear Potter if he ever tried to shove him into the wall again.

The more Draco thought about it, the angrier he became, huffing unhappily to himself and stomping his way past the Weasel’s empty desk to the back of the room where Bixby sat.

“Delivery,” He huffed churlishly, eyes still down and staring at the patchwork of the carpet. He refused to look up and accidentally catch sight of Potter a few desks down. The git didn’t deserve even an ounce of acknowledgement from him.

“Good news?”

“Still Alive,” Same old joke. Draco shifted uncomfortably, rustling around in his satchel before he procured his letter and with a shaky but determined hand pushed it towards the brunette.

“Who?”

Draco’s head snapped up, eyes widening comically as he noticed for the first time the second person perched next to Bixby’s desk. 

Harry stared at him with ridiculously pretty green eyes, ringed with thick black lashes, and armed with the biggest puppy eyed expression he’d ever had the discomfort of seeing. His thick thighs were parted, coat open to reveal the delicious way the fabric pulled around his crotch and legs. The pants were at least a size too small. Draco was blessed to have witnessed the way it pulled against his cock to emphasize where it lay just slightly to the left.

“My Gram,” Bixby rolled his eyes heavenward, digging around for cinnamon gum in his desk as if the world was not literally ending right now, “I’m her only family.”

Draco could feel the way his heart was threatening to break through his chest, burning with fury as he shifted uncomfortably and tried to look away from the trainwreck that was Potter’s beautiful face.

His dimples were just unfair.

Then suddenly Bixby’s words hit him and he stared at the man as they sunk in. He’d had no idea that the Auror was the last of Mrs. Bixby’s family. His heart hurt a little, picturing the way she smiled every time the end of the month rolled around and how she rationed out sticks of gum so that she’d have one every single day til the next month. Maybe it was her way of feeling loved?

“You’re her only family?” Draco’s voice cracked a little, his cheeks flushing as he studiously ignored the sign of weakness and hoped everyone else would too.

“Yep,” Bixby popped the end of the word between his lips, giving Draco a knowing smile as if he could guess what was going through his mind right now.

Potter forgotten for now Draco’s brows lowered and he gave the older Auror a furious glare. “Why have I _ not once _ seen you visit?” Fuck his brain to mouth filter. He was supposed to be lying low, taking his checks and not bringing attention to himself. The last thing he should be doing is aggravating arguably his best client.

But he couldn’t get Mrs. Bixby out of his head. She had the sweetest little curls, and smile lines all over her face. Even when sleeping she looked like she knew something you didn’t. It was unfair and just wrong to think her only family in this world was content to converse with her via errand boy only once a month.

Bixby stared at him, brown eyes narrowing for a moment as he weighed his response in the back of his mouth before replying.

“I do visit, Malfoy.”

It was probably the first time his name had ever been acknowledged by the other man. They both had tried to forget who he was, ignoring the obvious in favor of acting in ignorant bliss.

“I visit every week on Wednesdays.”

Wednesday was Draco’s day off. Oh. His cheeks burned with humiliation, kissing goodbye to the only tips he received like clockwork. Great going, Draco. _ Idiot _ . Of course the man visits. It’s  _ his _ bloody Grandmother.

“Oh,” Draco cleared his throat, continuing to hold out the letter as his hand started to do a fidgety little shake, “I didn’t know.”

He didn’t like how small his voice sounded.

“That’s alright, Malfoy.” Bixby’s voice was kind, taking the letter thankfully away from him before he,  _ god forbid _ , gave himself a paper cut from all his fidgeting. “Makes me happy someone other than me is looking out for Gram.” He ducked into Draco’s line of sight to show him there was no harm, giving him a little bob as he handed over the pack of gum and Draco hurriedly shoved it into his bag. Relief burned through him.

“Sorry.” The apology tasted like ash on his tongue.

“It’s no problem,” Kind brown eyes gave him a little wink before he raised a single eyebrow and nodded at Malfoy to hold out his hand.

And here lay the problem. Because in all of his fury, upset, and embarrassment Draco had forgotten that Potter was  _ right there _ and consequently about to witness the absolute shame of Draco receiving charity.

There was a war inside him. Part of him desperately wanted the money,  _ needed it. _ The other part of him wanted to politely decline and keep his pride in tact. But what if declining now meant Bixby no longer felt inclined to tipping him? What if he thought this was Draco’s way of saying he no longer desired to receive extra money?

He was prideful but even he knew what that little extra each month did for him.

Draco swallowed around the lump in his throat, carefully holding his palm out as he burned with mortification. Potter’s stupidly pretty eyes were boring a hole into his skull. He tried to ignore him as best as he could, pin pricks tickling at the back of his eyes from weeks of forcing himself not to cry.

Then suddenly his attention was back on Bixby. The older man was probably in his 40’s, half blood more than likely, not old blood like Draco was. He wasn’t sure why he was kind to him, by all rights he should  _ hate  _ the name Malfoy and everything that came along with it.

He didn’t though, that much was apparent as Draco’s eyes widened and he took in the _five_ galleons pressed cold against the palm of his hand. He couldn’t breathe, staring at them as he ran through mental calculations for what he could buy with the extra expense.

“Thank you,” Draco choked, shoving the coins in his pocket. He was prideful but not so much that he’d ignore gratitude, “You…” He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.

“Keep looking after Gram,” Bixby hummed, giving him a pleased little smile as he shifted around in his chair, “She talks about you, you know.”

Draco was a goner. He nodded, doing his best not to cry as humiliation burned through him and he quickly darted back out of the office without a single extra glance in Potter’s direction.

He almost made it too.

The elevator was in sight, only halfway down the hall before he felt the same sickening lurching sensation he’d felt last week and warm heat before he was shoved face first into the wall.

A warm body bracketed him on all sides, no preamble as soft hair tickled his cheek and lips and nose were buried in the soft skin underneath his ear.

“ _ What is with you and shoving me into walls?!” _ Draco struggled with fury, holding very still however when Potter’s arms clutched at him, tucking him tight into an incredibly solid chest as he whuffed softly against the delicate skin of his neck.

He was too strong willed to give in this time despite how lovely it felt to be clutched like this, gentle and possessive as one of Potter’s big clumsy hands reached up to cradle his neck once again.

“ _ I don’t know.” _

Draco was startled by the voice that spoke, low and gravely and absolutely  _ wrecked. _ Potter sounded like he’d just ran a marathon. He could feel the way the brunettes heart beat a hole through his chest trying to get to him.

“You don’t  _ know _ ?” He shifted a little hysterically, finding that to be a terrible idea as Potter only clutched him tighter, something that was definitely not a cell phone pressing against the plump of his arse. Draco froze, not before he fidgeted once more however, a soft whine vibrating against the back of his skull as Harry’s hips gave an aborted little thrust. “ _ Potter.  _ Did you just  _ hump me? _ ”

Draco’s eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed and blood rushing south despite the confusion clouding his mind. What in the hell was happening right now?

“ _ Can’t help it,” _ Everything Potter said was velvet to his ears, scratchy and desperately low, rumbling through his chest so that Draco could feel the words before he ever heard them, “You’re just  _ so-” _

“So,  _ what? _ ” 

“ _ So perfect.” _

Now that was just ridiculous. Perfect? Him? Yeah fucking right. What a poorly planned joke. As if last time hadn’t been enough humiliation, and now this?

“You better not be after my fucking galleons Potter or I swear to God I’ll hex your bollocks off.” Draco stomped, trying to aim for toes, anything to get Potter off of him so he could give him a piece of his mind.

“After your- your what?” That seemed to snap the brunette out of his haze a little, though not enough for him to stop sniffing at him or for his hips to stop their helpless little circles as they pressed up the thickest part of his rump.

“My  _ galleons,  _ are you daft?” Draco demanded, stomping again only for Harry to groan and press harder against him.

“I’m not gonna steal your fucking galleons,  _ Malfoy _ .”

The way Potter rumbled his name was just rude. It did things to Draco’s knees, making him feel a little weak as his stomping ceased and Harry took on more of his weight. The brunette slid between his legs, taking the opportunity to sandwich Draco against the wall, the Auror’s muscular thighs spreading him so wide his toes barely touched the ground and he was forced to sag into the strong body behind him.

“ _ Then what are you doing?” _ Draco hissed, aiming for viciousness and ending up breathless as Potter whimpered behind him, hips moving with a bit more purpose despite the pained noise he made like he  _ couldn’t help what he was doing _ .

“Fuck,  _ Malfoy,” _ Harry whimpered, panting against him like a dog in heat, his lips dragging across his neck before settling. His teeth were weirdly sharp, pressed open against his skin, not biting or moving really, like he truly was just breathing in his scent and it was affecting him so much he had to molest Draco in the very very public hallway.

Potter’s cock was massive. He could feel the way he pressed up against him, all heat and whines, heavy with lust as the needy appendage slid up between his cheeks on the end of each thrust.

“Potter-” Draco tried again, sure something was wrong if Harry was willingly sharing his space. “Have you been hit with a hex or something?” Worry began to eat at him.

For as much as he hated Potter, he loved him too. He didn’t like hearing the distraught way each little whimper was punched from the bigger man’s chest. His cock dragged against Draco's hole, tingles shooting through his body as his eyes crossed a little and his own little whine got caught on its way out his throat. 

“No hex, I just-” Potter’s cock slid against him again, searing heat and absolutely delicious as he felt him desperately trying to fuck him through at least three different articles of clothing. “You just smell so good- you smell like-”

“I smell like what?”

“You smell like,  _ mine.” _ Potter shuddered, the word tearing from his chest as he came, thick fingers clutching at Draco’s thigh and neck as his too huge teeth nearly sunk into the tender flesh at the back of his neck.

Draco was just starting to enjoy the hold when Potter stumbled back. The blonde nearly fell, suddenly no longer suspended before he felt furnace like fingers holding onto him, and settling him on his feet. He was about to thank him out of reflex when he saw the look on Harry’s face.

Horror?

Potter’s eyes were wide, cheeks red, and sweat glistening on his temple. He looked shaken, thick hair floating around his head in tangles as his square jaw twitched with tension and his adorable dimples were pulled into a tight upset expression. “I’m so sorry.”

“ _ You’re sorry?” _

“I don’t know why I-”

Draco wanted to  _ scream. _ He did the next best thing, shoving Potter’s thick chest  _ hard _ in frustration, he didn't budge an inch, before he turned on his heel and stomped towards the elevator. “Because I’m  _ yours _ apparently?” He was hysterical, screeching down the hallway as his mind reeled. “Fuck. You. Potter.”

Draco punctuated with a kick to the wall, folding his arms and waiting for the lift to open so he could step inside. His shoulders felt a little light however and just as the doors opened he heard the thudding of careful steps and felt Harry’s impossibly warm presence behind him.

“I didn’t mean that.” Potter’s voice was soft, pleading. It  _ hurt _ to listen to the way he shook. Draco sighed, still on guard as he turned around, silver eyes burning with unshed tears and carefully withheld fury. “I didn’t mean it, Malfoy.”

“Okay.”

Potter visibly relaxed a little, that stupid kicked puppy look back on his handsome face. His dimples danced, lips twisting into a hopeful little smile, “I… uh… I’m not very good with words, you know?”

“ _You think_?” Draco being charitable didn't mean he would be nice too. Surprisingly Potter laughed, his eyes wide and wary as he shuffled closer. He pressed up against Draco’s body, warm and comfortable as he tucked his face against his neck once more. The brunette held mostly still this time, snuffling without the added bonus of his cock on Draco’s arse.

“I’m better with actions.” Potter’s words were muffled, thick fingers reaching up to carefully cup Draco’s cheek. They burned against him, just the right kind of scratchy, nails cut short and nail beds bleeding from the amount of chewing Potter probably did on the poor disastrous things.

And then the words hit him.  _ Oh _ . Potter was better with actions? So was this his way of saying he was interested? There was  _ no way that was what was happening. _

“That’s just incredibly confusing,” Draco muttered, his heart in his throat as Harry sniffed at him, licking a broad stripe from the collar of his shirt up to his ear. A whine tore its way through the blonde’s throat, his knees knocking as saliva dried shockingly cold compared to the heat of Harry’s mouth.

“I just- I’m,” Potter seemed to be struggling with words, rumbling against him, so like a cat’s purr Draco was startled to feel the noise resonating deep down between their chests.

“Harry-” 

Both men spun around in shock, Ronald Weasley’s alarmed face pounding its way closer down the hallway as Harry sighed and reluctantly let Draco go.

He kept a hand on his face however, carefully keeping him in place with the promise of affection as Draco shifted uncomfortably and light filtered across ruddy cheeks and too high cheek bones.

“Harry you  _ cannot _ keep jumping Malfoy.” Ron sounded desperate and a little terrified, staring at Draco like he was about to murder Harry right in the hallway.

“I’m not hurting him,” Harry defended unhappily, his chest ceasing the purr rumble he’d been doing only moments earlier as beautiful green eyes flashed like a storm, “I would know if I was hurting him.”

“ _ Would you?” _ The weasel rolled his eyes heavenward, obviously asking for patience from whatever gods he believed in. 

“I would  _ smell. It.” _ Harry punctuated the words with a growl, lightning in his gaze as his shoulders rose and he shifted to stand almost entirely in front of Draco. “ _ You’re scaring him.” _

Holy shit. Potter must be rather astute because Draco was sure his poker face was too damn good to openly broadcast just how terrified he actually felt at the moment. _Also smell him? what the hell?_

“Harry-” Ron tried again, looking a little scared himself, holding his hands up placatingly. He seemed to give up however on swaying the brunette as Harry only seemed to growl louder, pushing up against Draco and boxing him away from the outside world. “Okay-”

The weasel shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching like he was going to grab something from his pocket. He looked at a loss, unsure how to deal with two hundred plus pounds of angry Auror. Scratch that-  _ Angry growling Auror. _

“Malfoy?” The weasel addressed, a little desperation to his face as he tried to peak over Harry’s monstrous shoulders to where Draco was trembling against the wall. He had no fucking idea what was going on.

“Yes?”

“I’m not gonna hurt you okay?” The freckled git offered, obviously trying to mend the rift that was being caused by their mutual animosity. “You don’t need to be scared.”

Humiliation burned across Draco’s cheeks. He could feel bile rise, choking him as he vibrated from the fury that was unleashed by a  _ Weasley thinking he was scared of him. _

Even though he kinda, a little bit, was. “I’m not scared.” Draco hissed the words against the scratchy fabric of Harry’s uniform.

Potter growled louder, the rumble echoing through the hall, incredibly weird and hot at the same time as a fit arse shuffled back to press against Draco’s stomach.  _ Buns of steel. _ Potter’s arse was absolutely a miracle to mankind.

“I’m serious okay?” Ron obviously didn’t believe him, looking equal parts scared and understanding, as he reached out a hand to try and gently talk Potter down from his state of agitation. “I’m not going to hurt you Malfoy. I may not like you-” Potter snarled a little, twitching even tighter against his body. He smelled like sandalwood and sweat, the scent tickling Draco’s nose and making him barely suppress a little whimper. It would feel glorious to be pressed against the heat of his naked body.

He couldn’t help but picture what it would feel like to be spread open wide by those big chorded thighs, whimpering into the mattress as Potter’s cock split him open.

“I may not like you, Malfoy, but I’m not gonna hurt you.” Ron finished lamely, obviously trying his best as he was vice president of the ‘not good with words’ club. 

Harry seemed to relax the moment Draco also realized that Ron meant what he was saying. He stepped away a little, not far, but far enough the blonde was able to breathe without picturing being fucked against the wall like he had been only a few minutes prior.

“I need to go.” Draco told them both, cheeks burning and eyes a little wet. “Please?”

He wasn’t sure if Potter would let him leave, the big lunk seemed determined to keep him prisoner and his last line of defense was pleading though it burned him to do.

That seemed to snap the Auror out of it though, his floppy hair flipping as big green eyes stared at him in recognition. “Malfoy- I-” He twitched, apology on his plump lips. Draco traced his scar, eyes widening when he realized for the first time that Harry wasn’t wearing his signature glasses.

“Please, Potter. Just let me go.”

Potter nodded. It looked like it pained him to do so but he did. The moment he had room to move Draco was in the elevator, slamming the button to go down before either of the other men could stop him.

What the hell?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay omg!! I seriously cannot get over the amount of love I've gotten on this fic. THANK YOU SO MUCH! I am so happy that everyone is loving it!! (and so happy to find people who love the same tropes that I do!) your comments seriously give me life. I'm so freaking happy and grateful for you all!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

“Checkmate.” Mrs. Bixby cheered happily, smacking her gum as twinkling brown eyes regarded Draco with thinly veiled amusement. “Still out of sorts?”

“No,” Draco huffed, eyes narrowing as he took a dejected bite of one of the biscuits that the older woman had so graciously decided to share. (Especially gracious considering he’d been the one to buy them for her.) “I’m not ‘ _ out of sorts’.” _

_ “Moping then.” _

_ “ _ I am  _ not _ moping.” Draco flipped his hair, glaring at her rather viciously as she chortled over him, munching her own biscuit and gesturing at him with a frail but lively little hand.

“We all have a bet going.” Mrs. Bixby’s wrinkles twinkled at him with a knowing look in her eye as crumbs scattered across the red patchwork of the quilt in her lap. “50/50 its a boy you’re pining after.”

“And I’m sure you’re the instigator of the bet.” He ignored the part where they were betting on his sexuality. Rude. He'd thought it was obvious his preferences lay with men.

“Touche.” Little old lady lips pulled into a grin as the corner of Draco’s mouth twitched up in amusement.

He didn’t often get time with the residents. Most of his days were spent running all over London with deliveries and errands. The slow day was a blessing especially after the week he’d had.

Suddenly there was commotion down the corridor. It startled the blonde in his seat, pale eyes ringed by even paler lashes flickering open widely as he tried to peek around the door jam to see what was going on. The Activities Room was normally the liveliest in the Center but even then was still only ever filled with the quiet murmur of voices.

Draco perked up, twitching in his seat as he twisted his head to hear better. 

“You think it’s the volunteers?” 

Draco’s gaze flickered over at Mrs. Bixby as he hummed in consideration. It seemed to have taken her a few moments longer to hear the voices as they got closer and louder.

“ _ Volunteers?.... _ ” His mind shifted. Anxiety flickered in his chest as he fidgeted. He’d forgotten about the next round of volunteers that would be gracing  _ Pibble’s _ halls. Part of the blonde was worried that the universe was just going to curse him again. After Tuesday’s disaster and Wednesday's answering mental breakdown he was more than concerned for his own mental wellbeing.

What poor luck it would be if Potter walked through those doors.

Footsteps grew louder, revealing themselves to be two sets rather than the one he’d heard originally. The two figures rounded the corner and Draco’s pulse skyrocketed. Luck was on his side however-  _ kind of _ .

Preceding the clippity clopping of cunning heels came the bushy headed mess that was Hermione Granger. Though admittedly she had grown into her looks over the years her freckled, rosy cheeks and mass of untamable curls only ever reminded him of feeling ‘not good enough’ accompanied by the sharp bite of little knuckles cutting viciously into the cushion of his cheek.

Hermione Granger was a terrifying sort of storm, always breaking down metaphorical doors and battering down hypothetical windows. Her quest for knowledge was dense and destructive- Something he’d do anything to get out of the way of: Especially now that the war was over and they were no longer classmates. In another life they maybe could've been friends.

Granger approached, the director (Draco’s boss as of three years) standing to her left. His stomach churned uneasily as he took them in. He hoped they’d pass or stop at the table of some other unlucky resident before they reached where he and Mrs. Bixby were seated. No such luck.

A little part of the blonde burned with mortification at being caught enjoying both conversing and playing chess with an elderly woman that was not his own flesh. He shoved the feeling aside however, fury burning in his bitter gaze as the heels clopped even closer.

_ Oh God. _ Granger stopped before him, her pencil skirt clinging to the inside of her knobby little knees as her lips tipped up into a magnanimous _ (horrifying)  _ sort of grin.

“Malfoy,” She addressed, painted lips creasing as she shuffled the clipboard she was carrying around and offered it to him with a flourish, “Mrs. Hermione Weasley.”

Malfoy paled, pale eyes flickering over to gage his boss’s expression. Anxiety nipped at his chest, leaving him cold and a little numb as he waited for the other shoe to drop. 

_ Was he being fired for what he’d called Granger all those years ago _ ? Had the whole of London suddenly been reminded what an absolute piece of  _ shit  _ he was? Maybe he should just quit while he was ahead. Move to America or France to avoid the constant public humiliation that was his life.

_ Why was she here? _

“Why are you here?” Never one to mince words Draco took the clipboard carefully, doing his best not to meet her fierce big brown eyes, bulging from how very large they were. He tried desperately not to notice how pretty she was, acting from a misplaced kind of loyalty to his younger self.

“Mrs. Weasley has expressed interest in hiring you on,” Draco’s boss hummed. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the man’s name. He’d been privately calling him Mr. Khaki since his second day at work here. ( _ Named after the horrendous 3-piece-beige-monstrosities he seemed to have a dozen of _ ) 

He really hoped no one made him acknowledge the man. Somehow he expected a simple ‘hey you’ wouldn’t really go over well with him, “She says you have experience with potions and magical creatures of sorts?”

“Yes….” Draco trailed off hesitantly, his voice betraying him with the hint of a quiver he was unable to hide. Potions made sense but experience with Magical creatures? The only experience he had with magical creatures was the minimal education he’d received at Hogwarts.  _ Granger knew that.  _

Draco’s eyes narrowed _. What was she playing at? _

Mrs. Bixby kicked his foot from underneath their table. The click of wood scattered through the air as chess pieces clattered about the tabletop in answer to his knee bonking painfully on the underside of the wood.

He understood Mrs. Bixby’s frustration with his lack of social niceties. Really honestly Draco wasn’t trying to self sabotage he just truly had no idea what was going on. One thing was for sure though. It was strangely suspicious that Granger had come to collect him only two days after his second _ Horrible Encounter  _ with Potter in the hallway.

“I need an intern.” Granger hummed, flicking her eyebrows upward as Draco finally turned his attention to the clipboard she had forced upon him. He read the details as she spoke, his pulse quickening and sweat gathering on the skin of his palms as he neared the end.

The bite of wood cut into his already cold fingertips as he clutched the clipboard closely to his chest.

Draco skimmed over the first few paragraphs, settling first on a list in bold sitting pretty at the bottom of the page.

_ Job Description: _

_ -Hands on experience with dangerous magical creatures. _

_ -Opportunity(ies) to discover world changing research. _

_ -Helping creatures that genuinely need it. _

_ -Observing the reaction of a new medicine and documenting history. _

It looked too good to be true. It really did.

Also why would  _ Granger _ of all people think of  _ Him _ when immediately trying to come up with an intern? Fishy.  _ Really fishy. _ His curiosity got the better of him however, eyes narrowing at the text in front of him, swirling into focus as his gaze flickered up to the top portion where “Salary” was written in bold.

Salary?

Draco’s eyes widened, ignoring Granger entirely as her words spun through the air and his vision swam. Holy shit.  _ Holy shit. Double Digits. _

“I’ll take it.”

Granger paused, eyes widening, obviously not sure what to do with herself now that she no longer had to sell the job she was offering. Her mouth opened and shut like a trout as she seemed to struggle for a moment to respond.

No doubt her mind was spinning in circles. He was sure she’d had a whole speech memorized and a 12 point plan to convince him to come work for her.

All he needed was double digits really. He was a simple man. No speeches necessary.

However what he didn’t understand was why his boss seemed to be involved in this decision.

“Mr. Levison has graciously allowed me to borrow you for the foreseeable future on Monday and Wednesday of each week. Assuming you agree of course.” Granger offered, smiling at him with a knowing look about her.

Ah.  _ Mr. Levison. _ That was his name. Blonde hair glinted as Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Like she knew something he didn’t.

_ Double digits, Draco _ . He reminded himself.

_ Think of your mother. _

Paid internships were hard to come by, especially in the medical field. He remembered vaguely reading about Granger and her revolutionary Supernatural Help program. The first of its kind. It seemed she’d taken to heart all the misfit creatures turned and damaged by the war. Broken nearly beyond repair as war often does.

“You’ll start Monday.” Mr. Levison hummed, obviously looking rather pleased with himself as he spared Draco barely a glance before he plodded away. His footsteps echoed as he left the room nearly a hundred sets of eyes watching his departure.

They were left in the wake of his silence, Granger’s too huge eyes blinking at Draco rapidly as she bit her lips to hide a little grin.

She gave a jaunty little wave, brandishing a quill from seemingly nowhere and gesturing at the bottom of the clipboard where he was supposedly supposed to sign.

Draco never did things without caution however and he continued to stare at her for a few guarded moments before gingerly taking the quill from her tiny little fingertips.

“Are you tricking me?” He questioned, voice biting through the quiet room as Mrs. Bixby’s loafer jammed uncomfortably against his shin in warning. He ignored her obviously.

Even vicious kicks weren’t so vicious when coming from little old ladies.

“Tricking you?” Granger looked far too innocent, her little nose scrunching up as she fiddled almost nervously with the hem of her jumper. “Why would I trick you?”

“I don’t know. Hundreds of reasons,” Draco admitted, still guarded as he watched her, waiting to see if she’d break. He was a little terrified of her if he was being honest with himself, but something inside him would not budge. “Feels like a trap.”   
  


“No, no. _No trap_.” Her lips flicked upwards, eyes tracing the edge of the quill in his grasp as if her will alone would force him to sign. “Just a paid internship.”

“Ooookay…” Draco sighed, dodging another kick from under the table and swallowing back the urge to kick back. He gave Mrs. Bixby a swift glare before he nodded in acquiescence and signed the bottom of the document with a flourish.

“Monday.” Granger confirmed happily, snatching quill and board from his fingers the moment the ink dried. He felt oddly bereft.

“Monday…” Draco repeated, watching her leave with apprehension poisoning his posture.

He should’ve known it was too good to be true.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Harry thumbed the scruff building along his jawline as his head dropped to the table with a satisfying thunk. “I think I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” Hermione hummed, a happy little ditty caught under her breath as she shoved a reheated box of takeaway under Harry’s twitching nose.

Rising from the dead Harry inhaled, the sweet scent of garam masala tickling him with pleasure as he accepted the offering and looked up at his friend gratefully.

His stomach growled its thanks.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Harry repeated unnecessarily as he accepted her offering. It’d been the same story for days now. Ever since he’d last seen Malfoy, _ last seen the hunted look on his face _ , it’d felt like he’d been hollowed out by a dull spoon and left to rot.

“I don’t either.” Hermione sighed. She was never one to admit not knowing something, though they’d both exhausted what little resources they had in the search for answers. “There’s no definitive answer, Harry. We can only guess what's been happening and move on from there. Though I do have my theories.” She mused aloud.

“Which you won’t share.” Ron piped up helpfully from across the kitchen.

“Because they’re _ theories _ , Ronald.”

“Never stopped you before,” Ron hummed. He had his face shielded by his own takeaway container, red eyebrows twitching comically above the lid of the white styrofoam box. “Who's to say you’re not right this time as well?”

“The stakes haven’t been quite so high before.”   
  


Harry sighed, ignoring them both as he shoveled a bite full of heaven into his mouth. The food burned on its way down, still too hot, though he gladly accepted the burns as personal punishment. The tingling of accelerated healing in the top of his mouth was enough to distract him at least a little from the niggling sense of  _ wrongness _ that settled in his gut.

“I just want to see him.” They all knew who “ _ him” _ was.

“ _ You can’t see him.” _ Ron huffed, lowering his box and pointing his dirty fork accusingly at Harry. “Or did you forget the not one, but  _ two times _ I had to physically pry your fingers from his pointy little body.”

Harry gagged, “Don’t ever say the word “ _ body _ ” around me again,  _ please _ .” He grimaced, not at all liking the thought of Ron talking about Malfoy’s body, no matter how disgusted the redhead seemed.

“Noted.” Ron shoved a forkful of chicken into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he gave Harry a half hearted little apology with his eyebrows. “Maybe you’d be better off in like, a controlled setting?”

“I thought the same thing.” Hermione hummed with delight, giving Ron the biggest smile she could muster. It was the one reserved only for when Ron had been particularly clever.

“Like…” Ron stewed in thought, watching Harry blankly as he mulled over his words. “You’re territorial. We already know this. The Incident with Hermione when you went grocery shopping was testament enough to that.”

Harry flushed uncomfortably. His collar felt tight all of a sudden as he stared down at his rapidly cooling food with self disgust. He’d growled at the sales clerk as they’d been checking out... Among other things. Hermione was pregnant, not even showing yet, and when the cashier had accidentally brushed her hand when passing over her receipt the mixing of smells had made Harry’s instincts go  _ berserk. _

No one was hurt thankfully but it was a rather strange conversation he’d been forced to listen to Hermione have as he stewed with shame outside on the curb and she apologized profusely for his behavior.

It's not like they could just tell everyone he was a werewolf either. This new drug he was trying, his “medication” was experimental enough that no one had even heard of it. He was actually the first in the batch of human trials.

He’d sound like a lunatic defending any of his behavior.

Harry already got enough open stares without adding “Erratic and crazy” to his checklist of character flaws.

“So maybe what we need to do is have you meet again,” Ron continued, flailing a hand out to gather the words to him as if they were sitting in thin air in front of him, “But in your own territory this time?”

“Ron!” Hermione cheered, excitement whipping her hair about her, “That’s brilliant.”

“Thank you.” Ron blushed, ducking his head sheepishly as the smell of his happiness bled through the room.

“So I need to meet him, but in my own territory?” Harry huffed, running calloused fingers through tangled black locks, “Only problem is- how the  _ Hell _ am I going to get _Malfoy_ to agree to come to my flat?”

Hermione’s cheeks split in a wicked grin as she turned to him. “Leave that part to  _ me _ .”

She was terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH my heck I seriously cannot get over the love I'm getting on this! THANK YOU SO SO MUCH!! I'm dead. I have read and reread each of your comments about a hundred times. I'm going to reply as soon as I can. You keep me going ;o; Life has been hectic as crap especially with the holidays so I especially appreciate your continued love and patience with me. AHHHHHHHH! I love you all.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Draco received an owl sunday with an address. He bribed Pansy to accompany him to scout it out. Her wicked lips twisted into a wry little grin as they took in the location before them.

“Quaint,” she commented unnecessarily.

Draco scoffed, eyes narrowing at her as he took in the picket fence surrounding the patchy looking grass of the little yellow house in front of them. A strange place to operate a business for sure.

He’d made a habit over the past few years to always plan ahead. It came in handy knowing exactly where each entry and exit was. Sometimes a quick getaway was a must considering who he was and  _ what he’d done. _

Paranoia was burned into his very DNA.

“Doesn’t seem dangerous.” Draco muttered mutinously, watching Pansy adjust her stupidly skinny sunglasses. They were “ _ for looks darling, don’t you know? Not functionality _ ” He’d not bothered to question her. The last thing he needed in his life right now was listening to  _ another  _ hour long rant about the importance of “vintage” fashion. 

“True, true.” Pansy hummed, flicking her wand through the air as if she could cast a spell and suddenly they’d know whether or not he was meant any harm.  _ How nice would that be? _

Pansy was fiercely protective. She was like a mama bear, ready at any moment to hex the balls off anyone who so much as glanced Draco’s way. He appreciated the sentiment though part of him loathed feeling like he couldn’t protect himself.

Draco fidgeted a little, staring at the chipped yellow paint and the little chimney spouting from the roof in a jaunty little twist. Smoke spindled towards a cloudy winter sky before disappearing into nothing. Nerves still tingling he sighed, dragging elegant fingers down his face before turning to his companion with a wry twist to his lips. “I’ll be fine.”  _ Probably. _

“Sure,” Pansy drawled. Her eyes were alight with amusement as she tucked her arm into his and they apparated away. 

Despite how very terrible she was, Pansy was a fantastic friend.

Their sunday ended with a baking marathon (to soothe his nerves) and an uncomfortable hour of Draco awkwardly yelling at the screen while simultaneously ignoring the way Pansy shoved her tongue down Brian’s throat.

All in all it was a pretty good day.

Draco couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning throughout the night and spending an insanely long time counting the flecks of gold decorating his ceiling.

It didn’t feel like home. It never had. Everything in the room was picked for perfection, designed to make the space appear larger and brighter. Some things reminded him of the Manor, the high ceilings, the unnecessary need to add gold to everything. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if at one point Pansy had been debating writing “I’m rich” in gold across the walls.

He snorted at the thought. It wasn’t  _ home  _ though, no matter how many similarities it had with his childhood home. If his mother were there maybe it would feel didn’t. But she  _ wasn’t  _ and it  _ didn’t.  _ Draco tried to recall the last time she’d written, ignoring the way his heart lurched when he realized he hadn’t written back.

That’d been weeks ago.

By the time morning rolled around Draco felt like death warmed over, skin dragging and eyes heavy as he shuffled through his morning routine. Face creams were expensive and a luxury he couldn’t afford at the moment so he sighed as he dragged his finger through the last few pitiful centimeters of moisturizer in the container Pansy had gifted him for his birthday last summer.

Hopefully with the new pay raise he was due to receive he’d be able to stock up again on the ingredients he’d need to brew some. Brew not buy. What a joke his life had become.

Money on his mind, Draco cheered up. There was a lot he’d put up with if it meant a little extra spending money. 

Christmas was fast approaching and he’d had his heart set upon sending his mother a new tea set. She’d been complaining about the loss of the set they’d had in the family for hundreds of years, bemoaning the ministry and their seizing of their assets as if the loss of the heirlooms was the worst thing that had happened. 

Neither of them acknowledged the way their vaults dwindled and Draco’s anxiety seemed to grow like a monstrous thing behind him, claws set steadfast into his shoulders. He’d been due for a panic attack for at least a week. He could feel it sitting inside his chest, hot and heavy as it wrapped its icy fingers around his heart and  _ squeezed. _

Draco shoved a slice of burnt toast down his throat as he headed out the door. He choked on the dry crumbs, ignoring the way his chest seized as he coughed. Pansy had been gone for a few hours already, some sort of publicity stunt she just “ _ couldn’t miss. _ ” Part of him was grateful he didn’t have to put up a brave face, while the other part of him wanted nothing more than to feel the gentle scratch of her fingers in his hair again. 

He missed feeling wanted, like something important. With a sigh the blonde departed, cloak clutched tightly in one fist as he apparated to his new place of business.

The small little house looked the same as it had yesterday. Draco tentatively approached the front door. It was less cloudy today, a few rays of sun peeking out and lighting the yard with beams of warmth. The porch’s floorboards creaked under his weight. He was nervous, energy tingling through his body and causing a faint sort of sickness in the pit of his stomach as he raised a hand to knock.

The door flew open before he had the chance.

“Draco! Good.” Hermione beamed. Her hair was pulled back today, twisted in a huge knot on the top of her head. It bobbed with her rather enthusiastically, her tiny little hands fluttering about as she gestured him magnanimously inside. She waved her hand down the hallway, gesturing him into the last door on the left and following after him after he stepped inside. She left the door open, which he was incredibly grateful for.

It took him a few moments in all the chaos to realize she’d called him  _ Draco _ . What sort of alternate dimension was this?

Ten minutes later he was knee deep in paperwork, his vision swimming as a cup of steaming coffee was placed in front of him.

The house smelled good. Surprising considering how old it’d looked from the outside. He hadn’t had the chance to explore anywhere but the small office space he was currently tucked inside. There were two desks, the one he was crushed behind and the one Granger occupied, a frazzled sort of air about her as she chewed on the cap of her pen. The only window in the room had a rather ridiculous view of the countryside, hills spilling out before them as he once again questioned why she was operating her business here of all places.

That was another thing- He was being forced to use a  _ pen. _ How very muggle.  _ Strange.  _ It felt awkward in his fingertips, his handwriting less neat as he was forced to adjust to the new apparatus.

“Let me know when you’re finished and we’ll move on to the fun stuff,” Granger hummed, flashing him a quick bright little grin as she shuffled the papers atop her desk into neat little piles.

“I never knew being an intern meant so signing so many disclaimers…” Draco muttered, eyes narrowing at the page in front of him. There was a clause very clearly bolded that stated he was  _ not  _ under  _ any _ circumstance to divulge the identities of any of the patients he was working with.

He signed with a flourish. Even  _ he _ understood the need for privacy.

“We’re in a sort of fragile line of business,” Granger answered. She finished straightening her desk, obviously waiting for him as she watched him with open brown eyes. Draco shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t like the way she was looking at him. The lack of judgment made him itch.

“Why are you acting so normal?” He blurted after a few minutes, shoving the last of his papers aside and narrowing pale eyes at her. The blonde looked like a cornered animal, hackles raised and feet tapping nervously without his permission. He could feel bile rising up his throat.

“What do you mean?”

“ _ You know what I mean, Granger. _ ” Draco hissed, agitation amping up as he shifted upon the cushion of his seat. Even his seat was comfortable. Good Lord. “You’re acting like I’m  _ not _ \- Like I’m-...” He spluttered angrily, struggling to find the words to express himself while he continued glaring at her. His fingertips turned white where they gripped the edge of his desk.

“Like you’re not you? And I’m not me?” She arched a little eyebrow. Guessing his thoughts rather astutely. Everything about her was little, he observed, besides her hair and her teeth that is.

“ _ Yes,”  _ Draco hissed, throwing a hand up as if to emphasize the space between them to make a point, “You called me  _ Draco.” _

“Well that’s your name isn’t it?” Granger was being purposely obtuse and it frustrated the hell out of him.

“ _ We’re not friends.”  _ Draco trembled, his heart rate accelerating at an alarming speed as his lungs seemed to constrict. The bile continued to rise, his heartbeat thudding uncomfortably like it was trying to break out of his skin.

Not now.  _ Not now _ . No, no,  _ no _ . 

He shook his head, forcing himself to glare down at his papers instead of Granger’s smug little face. He tried to steady his breathing to no avail. There was no way in  _ hell _ he was having a panic attack with one of his worst enemies sitting  _ only 3 feet away _ .

“No we’re not.” Granger nodded, surprising him by agreeing with his earlier statement. Her bun bobbing enthusiastically as she moved to stand. She looked pensive, her chipper mood squashed by the rise of panic clogging the room. “But we _ could be _ , Draco.” 

The use of his name was a deliberate jab. A gauntlet being thrown.

“ _ What?” _ That was absolutely the last thing he’d been expecting. An olive branch?  _ Why? _

What was she hiding?

“I’ve always thought you were an absolute prick, alright?” She hummed, voice honest as pretty lips twisted into a soft little frown. “You and your friends were horrible to me in school, horrible to my friends, and you made some pretty shit decisions.”

Hearing Granger swear was shocking to say the least. She had a way of oversimplifying the complexity of their relationship.

“ _ But, _ ” Hermione huffed, clippity clopping over to him and slamming a tiny little hand onto the wood of his desk as she leaned in close. She smelled strongly of coffee and some sort of floral perfume.  _ Fresia maybe _ ? “I am a firm believer in second chances.”

Draco glared at her, scooting back as far as he could til his back hit the wall and he was forced to stare up at the force of nature in front of him. Brown eyes burned with determination, jaw clenched as Hermione continued to stare him down.

“We were kids, Draco.” She affirmed, reaching a tentative hand out, hovering over where he was gripping the desk like a lifeline. “You and I don’t even really know each other.” She paused, “I’d  _ like _ to get to know you, if that’s alright with you.”

“W-” Draco spluttered, staring with horror at where her hand hovered, terrified that the second she closed that distance he’d lean into it, touch starved as he was. “ _ Why?” _

“ _ Because,”  _ Granger hummed, giving his hand a gentle little pat before she tried to catch his gaze again, “ _ Everyone _ does stupid things when they’re scared.” She was obviously speaking from experience. Her eyes burned bright with unshed tears, skin a warm whisper against the fragile skin on the top of his hands.

Draco nodded, searching her gaze with apprehension before something in him finally breaks and he nods again in defeat.

His fingers relaxed a fraction, Hermione’s touch not nearly as repulsive as he’d originally thought it would be.

“And besides- for some strange reason, Harry likes you.” Granger seemed to add this as an afterthought, even though those three words,  _ Harry likes you, _ seemed to shatter his entire world into itty bitty pieces.

_ Harry likes you. _

“What?” Draco’s voice broke a little, confusion etching his features as he thought back on their last two encounters- their  _ only  _ two encounters in the 3 years since school. The idea that  _ Potter _ of all people would tolerate him let alone  _ like him? _ Laughable at best, devastating at its worst.

Moments later the door flung open. Weasley stumbled inwards, dragging with him a large bag that smelled strongly of takeaway. He was still in scarlet uniform, gangly limbs shifting about as he moved to settle the food atop Granger’s desk.

“Thank you, Ron.” Hermione hummed, grabbing his cheeks and giving him a pleased little kiss, “I’ve been craving meatballs since 4 am this morning.” She added the last comment towards Draco, as if she was trying to explain the sheer amazingness of her lover bringing her food.

Draco wanted to be bitter, he really did. But he’d never had someone do something like that for him and it burned a little, settling unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach.

“He coming then?” Hermione questioned. Draco’s eyes narrowed, watching with bated breath. He was no idiot. Draco could guess exactly who “He” was.

“Yeah. Made him wait outside til you were done tearing Malfoy a new one.”

Hermione snorted, shaking her head as she shuffled her hands through the bag of food, humming with pleasure as she held up what smelled like a foil wrapped meatball parm sandwich. “He could hear all that?” She wasn’t even trying to be subtle. Why were they hiding the fact that Potter was outside? Of course he was. His two best friends were eating lunch together, why wouldn't he be? Then the words she was saying began to finally tick into place.

“Yeah. Narrated it even for me.” Ron grinned cheekily. It was obvious he was doing his best to extend his own olive branch towards Draco. The echo of his words last week ‘ _ I’m not going to hurt you, Malfoy _ ’ flickering through the blondes mind as he took in the happy couple.

How the hell could Potter possibly hear their conversation? It made no sense.

“You’re both idiots,” Hermione rolled her eyes fondly, giving Ron another pat before she turned to look at Draco, “I’m sure you can already guess that Harry is waiting outside.”

Draco nodded.  _ Obviously. _

“He’s actually very important to your job with me.” The blonde nodded again, nervous and unsure as he waited with his poker face on to hear more details. “Harry is… Well.” Hermione huffed, struggling to find the words to express what she was feeling. She looked uncertain, so unlike she had been only moments prior when she’d been telling Draco they ought to be friends. Brown eyes flickered to Ron for reassurance, the redhead giving her a quick nod and reaching out with a freckled hand to give her tiny shoulder a squeeze. 

Granger’s eyes searched his beseechingly, her gaze flickering to where he’d signed his non disclosure agreement as if building up the courage to speak. Eyes narrowed, anxiety rising once again Draco waited. “Harry is a werewolf, Malfoy.” She powered on despite the way the air seemed to suck right out of his lungs, “He’s one of 5 that are currently undergoing a trial for a medication that should eliminate the need for wolfsbane entirely.”

Draco froze.  _ Werewolf? _ His mind spun, going over every little detail of their most recent encounters with a new perspective.  _ A werewolf. _ It made sense in a twisted sort of way. The smelling, the grabbing, the way his teeth had seemed too large and too sharp as they pressed against the delicate skin of Draco’s neck.

Granger waited, obviously trying to read his reaction though Draco’s poker face was impressive to say the least.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew that werewolves were fairly harmless for the most part. They were usually so doped up on wolfsbane they were perpetually poisoned, sallow skin and dark circles giving way to a sickly sort of demeanor. 

He could accept the need for a new medication. That made sense. He could even accept that Potter somehow ( _ When _ ? He didn’t know) had become a werewolf. But putting all these facts together was too much for his sleep deprived mind to handle.  _ And now _ ? Having to actually  _ face _ Potter in a matter of moments with no time at all to adjust to this information, to regroup, make a battle plan? He was in over his head.  _ Fuck. _

Draco blacked out a little. Just a moment really. It was long enough however that his head hit his desk with a sickening little thud. The tightening in his lungs caused a roaring in his ears that only made the world spin more dangerously. It felt like he’d been turned inside out and upside down, insides twisting and writhing as he tried fruitlessly to calm himself down.

Distantly he realized he was now having that panic attack he’d been sensing since last week. His body hurt too much to bemoan his poor luck however.

_ How was it fair _ ? 

After everything Potter had been through- after  _ everything,  _ that he would be cursed  _ again? _ Forced to live a life doped up and despondent, terrified of losing control and killing everyone he loved.

_ How could the universe be so cruel _ ?

“Draco!” Hermione was upon him in moments, grabbing his shoulder too tight with her tiny fingers, causing pin pricks of pain to flicker down his arm as she lifted him to look into his eyes. He wrestled unsuccessfully with the mutiny his organs. 

The panic ate at him, pressing in on all sides as Granger swam in his vision. “Malfoy, you’re okay.” She tried to reassure. It was like Draco could sense Harry outside, his presence heavy and terrifying with its implications.  _ He couldn’t face him like this.  _ He was dangerously close to blacking out again.

A roar echoed through the room, deafening to his already sensitive ears. World tipping on is axis Draco gasped, scrambling to grab at the figure that suddenly launched itself towards him.

“ _ Malfoy.” _ Potter was upon him in seconds, cradling Draco’s clawed fingertips in large warm hands as the man grabbed him and turned him to face where he was now kneeling at his feet. Draco hadn’t even seen more than a blur as he’d barreled through the door. Potter’s broad shoulders took up a ridiculous amount of space, his body a blur of scarlet where he sat solid in front of him. “ _ Breathe with me.” _

Shame and anxiety curled around the smaller man, threatening to choke him as beautiful sea glass eyes stared into his own steadily through a heavy set of dark lashes.

Black curls swam in front of him in a blur of motion as Draco nodded, closing his eyes and focusing on the quivering in his chest before he finally ( _ painfully _ ) released a broken little breath.

“ _ That's good, really good.”  _ Harry encouraged, his hands incredibly warm and comforting where they soothed the quivering in Draco’s slender fingers and cradled him gently like he was made of spun glass. The praise washed over him in a wave of comfort, his head dropping lower as his first full breath escaped his lungs. “ _ You’re doing so good. Just breathe with me, okay?” _

_ In and out. In and out.  _

_ Why was this so hard? _

Draco nodded, a sort of fractured reality shifting around him as his brow furrowed with frustration and he focused on the way the calluses on Harry’s fingers scratched against the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist.

He tried not to focus on the fact it was Potter before him, the thought hurt too much.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, ignoring everything around him but the steady rise and fall of his chest. Potter encouraged him with a squeeze everytime he exhaled. The warm touch did wonders for the ache in Draco’s heart. He knew how badly it would hurt when it was taken away but in his current state couldn’t help the way he leaned into the affection like a starving man.

It could’ve been minutes or hours, but he didn’t care, chin tucked, shoulders high and vulnerable as Harry murmured little words of encouragement into the air before them. Potter’s voice was melodic and honey like as it echoed through the room filled with endless patience.

Eventually Draco cracked an eye open. He was weary, red rimmed and flushed with humiliation.

The pounding in his chest was still there though much less violent. A dull thudding echoing all the way to his toes. Draco felt cold all over, shaky and raw as he sat pressed into the uncomfortable chair Hermione had given him. An empty sort of nothingness ate at his fingertips. 

“There you are,” Potter grinned, dimples twinkling as the larger man shifted forward on his knees and gave Draco’s hands another gentle squeeze. He didn’t let go, something that made Draco infinitely grateful, “How are you feeling?”

The scent of fear and anxiety was thick and cloying, tickling Harry’s nose as electric eyes peered up at Draco through thick black lashes.

What had started as an inward mantra of  _ mine mine mine,  _ now echoed  _ protect comfort soothe.  _ It was like Harry’s instincts had hijacked his body, forcing him to comply with whatever their whim of the moment may be.

“I’m fine.” Draco’s voice was scratchier than he’d expected, startling himself as his hands trembled once more and Harry squeezed him tight.

Potter looked ridiculous, his muscular body squashed between the wall and Draco’s desk, big thighs tucked uncomfortably against the sharp corners of the desk legs.

“That’s good,” Harry hummed, smiling up at him and giving his hands yet another squeeze. Crisis averted, the brunette rose, a creak to his knees as Draco looked up at him with a nervous sort of fury etched into his pretty face, “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Harry didn’t comment on the panic attack, gracious enough to ignore what would surely cause Draco to break once again.

“It's not because you’re a werewolf,” Draco told him, needing suddenly to make that abundantly clear, “I don’t… I don’t  _ care.” _ Something in him was desperate that Harry know he wasn’t racist, wasn’t prejudiced like he had been in the past. 

“That’s  _ good.” _ The word rolled like molasses from Harry’s tongue, thick brows framing his lovely eyes, his stupidly handsome dimples growing more pronounced the longer he looked at Draco.

The blonde nodded, having made his point clear as he awkwardly shuffled backwards and out of Harry’s grasp. He was bereft, fingers aching and cold the moment they were released. The blonde was wary, worried Harry would take offense to him despite the gentle reassurance he’d received. 

When Draco glanced around the room he saw they were alone, Granger’s lunch suspiciously absent. He was incredibly grateful for that mercy. One member of the golden trio was enough heartache- but  _ three? _ He’d die of shame.

“I’m sorry about before,” Potter told him, shifting awkwardly as his dimples faded and he chewed his chapped looking bottom lip, “This is all new to me.”

He looked too handsome when he smiled sheepishly like that. Far too genuine with his emotions, gifting them out like Draco deserved them.  _ It wasn’t fair. _ The stutter in Draco’s heart made the brunette's head snap towards him, eyes alert and a pleased sort of smile rising across his lips once again. It was like Potter had  _ heard him. Draco shuddered.  _ What a terrifying thought.

“I can imagine you’re confused,” Draco replied pensively, unsure what he was supposed to say as he stared at the man in front of him. There were years and  _ years _ of turbulent history between them. Like a hurricane they only ever seemed to calm in the middle of one of their fights. He had no idea why Potter was showing the amount of compassion he was and part of him knew deep down kindness always came with a price.

Shame began to eat away at the blonde once again, cheeks coloring high and splotchy as Draco’s jaw tightened. He was raw, emotions unfurling at the surface where they so rarely resided nowadays.

“Oh yes. Definitely. Very confused.” Harry grinned, looking stupidly pleased about something as he shuffled a little closer to Draco and very obviously scented the air. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.” His voice was hopeful- nervous even, eyebrows raising a hair as his gaze fell upon Draco, steady and deadly with it’s affection.

“Ask me what?” Draco’s brow furrowed, lips turning into a frown, his heart stuttering once again.

Harry’s mouth twisted in a wry smile, before the smile dropped and he stared at the knob of Draco’s knee. He absentmindedly dusted the edge of his trousers, gripping his own thighs tightly, claws looking about ready to pop out and sink into his own flesh.

The tension was palpable.

Potter’s gaze flickered towards him again, beseeching, before he sighed, something in Draco’s gaze making him frown and glance awkwardly at the wall behind him. “I just was curious why you work at  _ Pibbles _ is all.” It was obvious that wasn’t the question he’d been meaning to ask.

Draco’s eyes narrowed, anger burning swiftly through his veins as he moved to stand on unsteady feet. He wasn't sure why the question made him so fucking _angry._ “I don’t think that’s  _ any of your business, Potter.” _ He hissed, swiftly standing and knocking his chair back with a clatter. Potter had tested him and he had  _ failed _ . The aborted question was a testament to that. Anger burned through him ravenously as the bitter cut of rejection stung its way through his chest.

Potter blinked, gazing at him with a dumbfounded expression, obviously trying to backtrack to figure out what he’d said wrong to cause such a violent reaction.

“ _ Nothing _ I do is your business.” Draco reaffirmed, stomping the tingles from his legs as he moved to cross his arms and take a step back. He felt vulnerable. There was an aching hole in his chest, protected by the arms that crossed it. The feeling of being cornered only caused a burning desire to both flee and attack, _so attack he did._

Better hunt than be hunted.

Right?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my heck. When I woke up the morning after posting chapter four to 12 freaking comments I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW AMAZING YOU ALL ARE! Thank you so so much!!! Like- I don't know if I've ever been so motivated to finish a story in my life. I've been writing as I go and now suddenly I'm writing AHEAD! So that I can keep you guys happy with updates. I seriously am so so grateful for all of you. Thank you so much! I've read all of your comments. ;o; I'm so happy and so honored. Thank you. Thank you. Can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

  
  


All in all this interaction had been  _ worse  _ than the previous two. Was he so cursed that he couldn’t even be in the same building as Potter without having some sort of traumatic experience?

The wall humping he didn’t mind.  _ The mind fuck he did.  _

“Honestly, Potter.  _ Fuck. You.” _ Draco stumbled backwards, trying to get as much distance between them as he could while the numbness in his limbs turned to a fiery sort of tingling in the wake of his anger.

Part of him hoped something would explode from the force of his anger. It had never happened to him before but it was a nice thought. 

How poetic it would be.

“Malfoy?” Potter’s brows furrowed, his jaw clenching as he took a step forward. It was like he couldn’t control himself, his fingers twitching restlessly before clenching into fists so tight his golden knuckles turned white. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but I’m sorry, okay?”

Draco laughed. “ _ You’re sorry?”  _ Bitterness bled into his tone as he took another step backwards, Potter advancing in turn. Step for step. Like they had been their entire lives. “ _ You never know, do you? _ You’re so bloody obtuse.”

He was grasping at straws now, hurt echoing through his limbs right before the wall hit his back. This was feeling all too familiar.

There were years of anger, years of rejection for Draco to get over. He didn’t think he ever would, especially not when at every turn it seemed like Potter was there to witness his lowest moments.

His mind flashed back to the bathroom in sixth year. The fury was a little more real this time as he edged around his desk, back still against the wall. “Perfect, Potter. Savior to us all.” Draco chanted, annoyed with the way his cock jumped when he saw the look of fury written across Potter’s handsome face.

He couldn’t stop. God. He couldn’t stop. This was just a train wreck waiting to happen and Draco for the life of him could not stop running his mouth. After three years of sitting quiet, biding his time with his head low and shoulders high it was like he had all this anger built up inside of him that absolutely needed to be released.

He was like a time bomb.

“ _ I’m not perfect.” _

And of course that was the thing the big dolt had fixated on. Not perfect? Fuck him, honestly. Stupid Potter with his stupidly  _ perfect _ eyes, with his stupid  _ perfect _ smile, and his stupidly  _ perfect _ dimples. He could go jump off a cliff and everyone would still praise him for his  _ bravery. _

“What in the hell has gotten into you?” Harry demanded angrily, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. The brunette shook his head, trying to clear it as his whole body began to shake. “Jesus, Malfoy. Do you  _ want _ me to attack you?”

Draco hissed out in anger, stomping towards the door without turning his back on the other man. He was nearly there. Just a few more steps and he’d be out of the building and apparating back to Pansy’s to nurse his wounded pride. “ _ Attack me?” _

The second he was through the doorway he turned his back and bolted down the hall.

The front door was in sight, this feeling all too familiar as he fumbled with the doorknob, his heart beating a parade in his chest.

There was a woosh of noise, too fast to even decipher before he found himself once again shoved unceremoniously into the wall.

“Rule number one of dealing with supernatural creatures.  _ Never run from a werewolf.”  _ Potter’s voice was low and musky against the shell of his ear, his thick clawed fingers tight around Draco’s hips as he pressed him up against horrible yellow wallpaper. “ _ We like to chase.” _

It was like he wasn’t even himself anymore.

Draco whined, high and loud, his body sagging a little as a hard body pressed tight against him. The heat was stifling, Potter's lips warm and wet where they pressed open mouthed to the junction between his neck and shoulder. He could feel sharp teeth at his throat, tingles shooting low in Draco’s stomach as Potter growled low and threatening against his delicate skin.

He could feel the way the sound rumbled in the larger man’s chest. The fury had left Draco as quickly as it’d come, arousal taking its place with severe emotional whiplash as he scrabbled at Potter’s forearms. He could feel the roping of scar tissue where his fingers slipped beneath Potter’s scarlet coat.

Before he could get too comfortable however, his own heart dancing, his cock hot and heavy where it pressed against the zipper of his trousers, he found his world flipped on its axis once again.

“ _ Potter.”  _ Draco gasped, thudding to the floor, most of the trauma absorbed by the way Harry lowered him almost gently at the last moment.

He was on his knees, mind racing, and cock aching as slender fingers scrabbled at uneven floorboards.

“Fuck.” Harry whined a deep broken noise as he nuzzled impossibly closer to the side of Draco’s neck. He could feel Potter’s thighs bracketing his own, spreading them wide, his whole back on fire where it pressed against the inferno that was Harry Potter. “ _ Malfoy.” He moaned. _

Potter was obviously affected, his own cock large and insistent where it pressed against the seam of the blonde’s arse.

Draco had never in his life wished to be naked more than he did at this very moment.

“You,  _ brute.” _ Draco hissed, enjoying the way Harry’s hips twitched at the sound of his voice. It was like the brunette had forgotten how to speak, his hands hot and heavy where they dragged from Draco’s hips up his chest.

They lit a line of fire across him wherever they touched, their search hungry and heavy handed as Potter panted against the sex sweet skin of his neck. 

“Fuck.” Harry swore, grabbing onto Draco’s hips with a vengeance and tilting them upwards so he could grind against him with reckless abandon. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

“You’re all talk, Potter,” Draco taunted helplessly, his toes scrabbling for grip against the floor boards as Harry’s incredible strength anchored their hips together and his thick cock pressed hard against his hole through layers of scratchy cotton.

“ _ Malfoy-”  _ Potter crooned, his messy haired head tipping back as his hips stuttered. It looked like he was about to come,  _ again.  _

“How many times will you perform this dance one sided?” Draco whimpered, egging him on despite the fact his own cock was leaking. He was sure Potter could smell the evidence of his arousal, his own cheeks flushed and elbows shaky where they supported him against the hallway floor.

“Malfoy-” Harry repeated once again like he was praying, green eyes glowing in the light and ringed with lashes darker than sin. Draco was sure Potter was ignoring him, his words falling upon deaf ears. Then suddenly without warning he was lurching through the air again. 

His back met the floor with a soft thud, his vision swimming full of Potter’s handsome sweaty face. His canines were out, heavy in his mouth and biting into his lower lip as he gave a particularly animal-like growl and his cock pressed hard and hot against Draco’s own. The stimulation was too much and suddenly, spectacularly, phenomenally-

Draco came.

_ Fuck. _

Minutes later Potter lay beside him, sticky and sweaty and panting up at the ceiling. Draco admired the cracks in the plaster, counting imagined constellations as he lay beside his enemy turned lover.

“Was that okay?” Potter asked, like the saint he was. His green eyes were watching the blonde with hesitation, like he was afraid of getting hexed. Funny how the one who should be afraid was  _ Draco  _ and yet it was _ Harry _ who looked about ready to bolt.

“Yes, Potter.” Draco sighed, looking back to the ceiling and resolutely ignoring the sticky state of his trousers. He could feel his wand poking the small of his back where it rested in his back pocket but he couldn’t be arsed to care.

“Oh thank god.” Harry’s head thunked against the floor, his thick fingers finding where Draco’s hand rested palm up against the wood floorboards and giving him a feverish squeeze. He seemed himself again. 

Draco did  _ not  _ squeeze back.  _ Well…  _ Not hard anyway.

“While I appreciate the need to bed me the moment you see me, I am curious why it somehow seems to coincide with your new….. Wolfy tendencies.” Silver eyes flickered over, curious and guarded, calm in the wake of an orgasm.

The tension was still there, though ebbed for now like low tide as Harry shifted closer and pressed his head hesitantly against the juncture between Draco’s neck and shoulder. “I.. Don’t know.” Harry answered.

Whether or not that was the truth would be discovered. Draco sighed, putting his most put upon face on and doing his best not to bury his nose too deeply into the citrus smell in Potter’s impossibly fluffy hair. 

Draco went home early.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

Pansy was waiting for him as he walked through the door. It took her two seconds to notice the expression on his face and only 10 extra seconds to take him into her arms.

“What happened?”   
  


“What do you think happened?” Draco sighed, tucking his face into her bony shoulder as she gave him a poky little squeeze. Somehow her cuddles were no longer as satisfying. Not now that he’d spent nearly 30 minutes snuggled up in Potter’s stupidly muscular arms. Her scent was too flowery, not like the hint of lightning and musk that filled his nose whenever Potter was near.

“Potter?”

“Potter.” The magic box was turned on only twenty minutes later, failing British bakers soothing his soul as he clutched Pansy’s favorite decorative pillow to his chest. He’d changed clothes, wearing only a worn pair of boxers and one of Pansy’s boyfriends shirts.

Years ago he would’ve never been caught dead wearing either thing in anyone else's presence but as he’d aged that sort of thing had been beaten from him. The older he got the less he cared about appearances. To a certain degree at least. 

“Tea?” Pansy offered, her voice more gentle than normal. He hadn’t said a word about what’d happened so she’d probably assumed the worst. The special treatment felt good however so he had no plans to tell her til she’d at least made him dinner.

Draco took the cup, balancing the warm Earl Grey between his palms and atop his pillow. “You were supposed to use BAKING POWDER.” He screeched at the screen moments later. Pansy’s eyes bugged out of her head and she disappeared into the kitchen once more.

She came back with biscuits. Chocolate biscuits.

“HOW CAN IT BE CONSIDERED A BUTTER BISCUIT IF YOU PUT NO BUTTER IN IT?” Draco screeched at the contestants on screen. Pansy gave him the whole tin.

Food devoured and tea emptied Draco relaxed. He tipped forward sleepily, his chin resting atop the tassels on his pillow as Pansy watched him warily from the armchair across the room.

“So...What happened?” She asked, now that the fury had been burned out of his system.

“We had sex.”

“ _ You had- what?!”  _ Pansy’s voice rose to a new octave, her eyes bugging out of her head making them look comically large on her petite face.

“Sex. You know. The big S E X.” Draco huffed, burying his face in fabric and releasing a high whine, “Like. On the floor. Clothed.”   
  


“Woah. Wait. In what universe do you and  _ Potter,  _ have fully clothed floor sex? I think I skipped the part where we died and went to an alternate dimension.”

“ _How do you think I feel_?”

“You’re talking about _Potter_ right? The same Potter we went to school with? Savior Potter? Holier than thou, _walk-your-gram-across-the-road Potter?”_

“The very same.”

“Well Circes Tits, Draco.” Pansy rubbed a hand down her face, smudging her makeup, something she would  _ never  _ do normally. “This isn’t an Earl Grey kinda problem. This is a Scotch kinda problem.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR PATIENCE! This past month has been a huge trial honestly. So much stuff happened and I barely survived but I am BACK! Thank you so much for your continued support. It means the world to me!


	7. Chapter 7

They were three shots in each when they heard a knock at the door. Pansy opted out, gesturing towards the sound with a magnanimous wave of her taloned fingertips. “You’re closer.”

“Fine.” Draco hissed, unhappily wobbling his way towards the doorway. He swung it open without checking through the view, his eyes widening as he stared at where Potter’s handsome face spun just inside his doorway.

“Malfoy?” Potter asked, looking shaken and a little sickly as he pressed his large body as far away from the blonde as he could within such a small space.

“What do _you_ want?” Draco hummed, swaying a little pathetically, completely forgetting that he was wearing boxers and a ‘ _Hamilton_ ’ shirt, whatever the fuck that was.

“Can I come in?”

Potter looked like he was about to throw up, nearly as green as his pretty, pretty eyes. Draco waved magnanimously like the king he was, his smile just a hair too mean as he allowed Potter within Pansy’s flat.

“Is that Potter?” Pansy called. Her hysteria was about a level six. Far too high for the level of intoxication that Draco was currently enjoying.

“Yes.” Potter looked nervous, his massive shoulders climbing all the way to his ears as he peeked around Draco’s shoulder to where Pans was sprawled with a bottle of scotch perched atop her birdlike knees.

“Ah,” She didn’t elaborate, giving Draco a vicious eyebrow and twirling her finger through the air, “A friendly visit or?”

“Friendly.” The brunette bobbed earnestly, his stupidly handsome cheeks flushed and dimples showing even when he was standing there looking honest. 

“I suppose if you _must;_ you may come in.” Pansy said with a sneer. 

Pansy was such a bitch. Draco _loved_ her.

Potter shuffled forward, looking out of place in his dingy Canons t-shirt and hole riddled jeans. Holy shit, Draco _loved him_.

“Can we have some privacy, _witch?_ ” Draco sneered. He was feeling generous.

“Sure thing, _whore._ ” Pansy flipped him the two fingered salute, standing up and slipping her way over to him to shove the bottle of scotch into his arms. Even when intoxicated she moved with the grace of a small cat. 

She gave Draco a pointed look.

Silver eyes rolled to the heavens as the petite witch plodded her way down the hallway and out of sight. “ _No fucking on the couch_ ,” She screeched like a banshee once safely inside her room.

“Hypocrite,” Draco muttered.

Potter was watching him with fascination. 

You’d think he’d never seen two adults get along before. 

“What was it you needed to speak to me about?” Draco questioned, trying not to hyper fixate on the way that Harry’s jaw ticked when he swallowed. He wanted to bite him. _Cir_ -ces.

“Oh.. I uh-” Potter paused, seeming to flounder a moment before his green eyes flickered with something and his brow lowered. He looked like a pissed off caterpillar.

“Bold of you to show up at my home with a face like yours.” _Shut up, Draco._ Oh god. _He was drunk._

“Sorry- what?” Potter spluttered, his cheeks reddening as he gave Draco a look that had ‘straight alpha male’ written all over it. Now _that_ pissed him off.

“What- Ugh. Nevermind.” Draco took a step back, pinching the skin on the inside of his forearm in the hopes it would sober him a little. It didn’t.

“Oh- okaaaay.”

_God_ , could this be any more awkward? Why was Potter even _here?_

Potter’s big head seemed to take up the whole room, his hair a fluffy hazardous mess, lips chapped and bitten red like he’d been chewing them the whole way there.

“I just-” 

“ _Potter.”_

“God, I know- just.” Harry swore. He brought a thick tanned hand up, up, up, and gripped his own ebony locks with a meaty fist. Draco wanted to _climb him like a tree._ He would’ve done it too if the scotch in his arms wasn’t in the way. Thank god for Pansy’s quick thinking. “I just- I _needed_ to see you, to talk to you.”

Draco blinked.

“You know.” Harry waved a hand, looking rather lost as his brows tipped together and his lips pressed into an abused little line. “ I wanted to see how you were doing, see if I could maybe-”

“Maybe what?” And there it was. No way in hell Potter came all this way just to check up on him. Everything came with a price.

“I wanted to see if you would consider-”

“ _Consider_ what?”

“Good, god, Malfoy, _please_ just let me finish.” Harry’s whine caught in his throat, nearly a growl as the taller man crowded inwards. He smelled delicious, sharp as fresh cut oranges with a hint of woodsmoke. Who even smelled that good?

“Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Draco was watching him with careful eyes, the scotch clutched to his chest like a shield as he waited to hear what was so horrible it took Potter nearly _five minutes_ to say. Was he going to blame Draco for earlier? Claim he seduced him with his wiley ways- call their encounters a mistake and further crush Draco’s heart? _Probably_ . But _god_ did he look _good_ in those jeans.

“I wanted to see if you would mind coming to dinner with me.” 

Wait, _what_?

“And I also wanted to apologize for earlier today- and… The _other_ times. I think I go a little nuts when I can’t have proximity to you.”

Wait. _WHAT_?

“Get out.”

_WAIT WHAT?_

Potter looked like he was about to die of shame, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he stared at Draco with anguish.

“I’m serious, Potter. I will hex your fucking balls _right off_.”

“Okay-” Harry startled holding his hands up placatingly and shuffling backwards towards the door. He looked a little terrified, his tail tucked between his legs, the scars roping his thick forearms on full display, “I’m sorry just- _Christ_ , Malfoy.”

Draco brandished the scotch bottle like a sword, waving it wildly towards the handsome git with an evil glint in his eyes. “ _Go.”_

_“Okay, okay.”_ A whine tore from Harry’s throat, his cheeks red and chest heaving where it pressed indecently to the cotton of his horrible orange t shirt. When he’d reached the door, meaty fingers fumbling with the handle Draco finally deemed it safe to lower his weapon.

“You can pick me up tomorrow at 7.” He called to Potter’s half retreated form.

The brunette paused, eyes widening in surprise, jaw flopping like a fish as he stared across the room at Draco’s lithe form. “Like- for a date?”

“ _Yes_ , you idiot.”

“Then why are you kicking me out?” Harry sounded rather put out, his big brow furrowed, pretty green eyes searching and sad like a hound from the streets begging for attention.

“ _Get out, Potter.”_

_“_ Alright, Alright!” The brunette looked downright chipper, a complete one eighty from his mood moments before as he offered Draco a happy grin and a jaunty little wave just before the door slammed shut behind him. What a dork. “See you at 7!”

Draco waited patiently til he could no longer hear Potter’s retreating footsteps. His gaze was blank, fingers still gripping tightly to the scotch bottle before he spurred into action and flung it viciously against the wall. It shattered satisfyingly, the noise loud enough to wake even the deepest sleeper.

Pansy appeared in the hallway as if summoned, her satin sleep mask atop her head, the lack of makeup upon her face startling. Draco took almost no notice.

“ _I thought he said it was a friendly visit?”_ She stood far enough away to avoid the danger of any more thrown objects, her eyebrows climbing into her hairline as she waited for Draco to burst into a hysterical fit. He did no such thing.

“He asked me out, Pans.” Draco told her, his voice as even as could be.

“He asked you out?”

“ _He asked me out.”_

_“He asked you out?!!!”_

_“_ Pansy!! HE ASKED ME OUT.”

As any good friend would do Pansy reached beside her for the nearest vase and launched it at the wall with a victorious scream. 

Draco was upon her in seconds, swinging her about the room and knocking over furniture as they screeched together. He almost dropped her three or so times, battlecries ringing through the night, her arms slippery with lotion. He didn’t even care that she smelled like overripe night time potion. He didn’t care that there was scotch on the wall or glass in the carpet. He didn’t care that his back hurt and his vaults were empty and he’d lost his childhood home.

How could he?

How could he care about _anything_ when _Potter asked him out_?

  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A SHORT UPDATE: but definitely the most fun I've ever had writing something. I hope you all enjoy it!! Thank you so much for your kind comments and well wishes. I freaking love you all.


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